Blood Trail
by WeBuiltThePyramids
Summary: Set in the early 1840s, a married Jane and Lisbon, and Lisbon's three children from a previous marriage, set out on the Oregon Trail to hunt the man who ten years before murdered Jane's first wife and their daughter - the infamous Red John Bandit.
1. Chapter 1

**So this idea came from re – watching the episode where Lisbon says that the team is a family and me giving the characters on my mobile Oregon Trail game the names from The Mentalist. And then I decided to make a full fledged fic out of it. I'm not going to give you guys a huge A/N, but basically this is based off of the actual show, but it just takes place in the early 1840s and is an Oregon Trail fic. Lots of stuff from the show will appear in this fic as close to how they actually happened as possible while fitting the time period.**

**I don't own anything.**

Teresa Jane made a face at the strawberries that were presented at the marketplace. Rotted. Not to the point that one could tell for sure by looking at them, but the strong strawberry smell that surrounded the fruit stand and the slight discoloration of the berries themselves were enough to tell her that. "These are no good," she told the angry looking man standing beside them.

"You will not find strawberries this cheap anywhere else in the area," he told her, folding his arms. Teresa wrinkled her nose – he smelled worse than the berries. "Everyone else cheats you. I am honest."

"Just because your sign doesn't say 'fresh' does not mean that you are being honest," she told him. "I don't know where you grow these to have them weeks ahead of anyone else, but they aren't worth anything."

"You ain't worth anything," he sneered, turning slightly from her to target the crowd ahead of him. "Strawberries! Cheap strawberries!"

Teresa rolled her eyes and continued on. She was one of the few widows who hadn't had to turn to prostitution to provide for her children after her husband's death. That was certainly worth something. Not worth arguing with the smelly man over, but something nonetheless. However, not having to turn to prostitution didn't mean she could afford to buy strawberries the moment that anyone had them, even as a married lady once again, she had to wait until June when the surplus drove down the prices.

For now, her main concern was finding her husband. She turned down the dusty main street and sidestepped two boys running about with bird whistles. She was glad that her sons weren't into playing with those things; excessive noise was not something that she was good with dealing with.

"Hey! Hey! Teresa!"

She looked up – an odd direction to follow a voice – and her face showed her shock at the site of her husband standing on top of the blacksmith's shop. He gave her a grin, waved…and then turned and jumped off the back of the house.

She burst into a run, shouting his name as she crossed the street and ran around the side of the building, expecting to find him lying lifeless and wondering _why_. He had ambitions, he had a life goal. And none of that included grinning at his wife and then jumping off a building onto the metal hitching posts that George Smith had behind his facility.

She didn't find him lying lifeless. She didn't find him lying there at all. She frantically scanned the yard before her eyes wandered _up_ again. There he was, grinning down at her from a sheet that he had tied to the trees and had fallen onto, now lying in it like a hammock. "No worries. I'm fine."

"You scare the life out of me and then just grin like you've accomplished something you've been working on for months on end?" she said. "If I have anything to say about it, you're not going to be 'fine' for very long."

"Ah," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You'll have forgiven me by supper. You always do."

"Patrick Jane, what on God's green Earth prompted you to do this?" she said. "What even is that, anyway?"

"It's a hammock," he said. "I suspect it is where George Junior and young Priscilla Campbell come to act married, but it reminded me quite a bit of when my father and I used to pretend to plummet to our deaths in the Shaconage Mountains for money."

"Well, glad you got to experience a bit of nostalgia this afternoon," she said. "Come with me. Wayne is still sick and if you expect me to haggle with Rebecca for seed, we need to start for home now."

Jane rolled to the side so the sheet tilted. He caught the edges with his hands and hung there in the air for a moment before letting go and dropping to the ground. "I'll come with you," he said, "but I don't need you to haggle for seed."

"Really?" she said. "You have other plans for us this year?"

Jane stopped and looked around; as if to make sure that they were alone. "I have found something out, Teresa. Today. I'd suspected for a week or so, but today it was confirmed."

"Sharing is good," she said, nodding.

"The blind woman who had…relations, with Red John Bandit," he said. "She told me today that he sent her a letter from Independence, Missouri. He's Oregon bound, Teresa."

"That's _good_," she said. "He won't be here to taunt you anymore."

"No," he said. "No, it's not good. He thinks he's winning. He thinks that I'll never find him. But there are so few settlements in Oregon. It would be quite easy. And he would never know we were on our way."

What he was saying hit her. "No."

He lowered his head slightly. "Teresa."

"No," she said. "I'm not uprooting my children and dragging them across the country for your revenge."

"Oh, come on, they'll love it! You know Wayne and Grace are always up for an adventure, and Kimball, he takes everything in stride. And Grace, she'll be valued out there. That Shoshone woman who went with Lewis and Clark to the Pacific Ocean? She got a _vote_ in where they would winter. I guarantee you that equal rights will be in place in the West before they are out here. And the untamed wilderness could do for her sweet smile. Yours, too."

Teresa felt herself start to smile. Jane smiled back, but his eyes weren't cooperating with the upward mouth. In them was a need to finish what he'd started years ago – find the man who had murdered his first wife and their daughter that night in the early eighteen thirties. Find him and kill him. If she agreed to follow him to Oregon, she could help him do that. She hadn't been able to help her mother and her father; she'd barely been able to help her children after their father had died. She _could _help her husband, and help him she would.

"All right," she said.

"All right?" Jane asked. "You'll go?"

She smiled and shrugged. "What am I supposed to say? No?"

**Hope you enjoyed chapter one! The next chapter will be up soon – can't promise when, though, I'm updating Fire of Unknown Origin as well. Also, the title does have some greater significance than it may originally appear – I didn't just pick a word for 'red' at random.**


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter! Updating in quick succession right now because I won't be able to for a good part of next week - I'm lucky I was able to focus enough to get _this_ chapter done in the time I was alone this evening. Hope you enjoy this chapter! It is dedicated to Phoenix the puppy. (Don't ask.)**

Wayne, his nose slightly red, was the first to speak up. "Oregon?" He looked at his older brother for a moment, and then back to his mother and stepfather. "That's like six months away!"

"Give or take," Teresa said, nodding. "We're going to be leaving within two weeks in order to make it there by the time the winter comes in. As is, the main wagon train is leaving right about now, so we'll be behind."

Grace, the baby of the family, not quite a teenager yet, looked up at her mother with wide eyes. "Will we see buffalo? And Indians?"

"That's just about a guarantee," Kimball told her. "Considering stories have come back about folks thinking that a fire had blackened the plains ahead of them, but in reality it was buffalo herds."

"Is that true?" Grace asked, moving her wide eyes from Teresa to Wayne.

"It must be," Wayne said quickly, nodding firmly. "If Kimball says it's true, it must be."

Teresa smiled to herself. Wayne was only a year younger than Kimball, but the boy idolized his brother's every move. Kimball could tell him that someone rode a wagon all the way to the moon and Wayne would believe it; if one of their school friends told the same tale, he'd chalk it up to an overactive imagination. Teresa didn't know if it was the way Kimball said it or if Wayne was reacting based off of Kimball's love of reading and learning, but if Kimball said it, Wayne believed it. And everyone could see it but the younger boy.

"It is true," said Jane, nodding. "Just think, you guys. Buffalo roaming everywhere, open plains, open sky, that big, big sky…and then the green gem that is Oregon. Fertile land, sparkling rivers, mountains taller than the ones around here, much taller, are just waiting for us to feast our eyes upon them. It's a good life out there, for those brave enough to go."

"And tough enough to survive," Wayne said.

"I'm tough enough to survive," Kimball said.

Wayne quickly agreed.

Grace nodded. "Me too."

"Good," Jane said, smiling at the children while putting his arm around their mother. "We leave for the official starting point in three days. You each get one bag; we're packing lightly."

"Boys," Teresa said, "go feed the chickens. Wayne is not to go into the shed. Grace, set the table; we'll be eating soon." She gestured to Jane. "We need to talk."

When the children were gone, Teresa walked the short distance to their bedroom and sat down on the foot of the bed. "This is big."

He sat down next to her. "I know." She wouldn't look at him, she remained staring down at her hands in her lap, and he tipped his head down slightly in an attempt to catch her eye. "But it will be worth it."

"You're right," she said, nodding. "You'll find the bandit, you'll kill him." She finally looked at him. "It will be worth it." She looked back down and smoothed her dress.

"Are you having some second thoughts?" Jane asked her. "I know it's a bit sudden, but…"

"I'll be leaving Patricia, my mother's grave, Walter's marker…" she looked at him. "You'll be leaving Angela and Charlotte behind. _We'll _be leaving Julia behind."

"Graves give no comfort to me," he told her. "You know that."

"You really don't believe they're there?" she asked, looking at him again. "Like…you don't feel closer to them when you see where they're buried?"

"Do you?" he asked her in a very serious tone. "Deep down, do you really?"

"With my mother, I do," she said, reaching up to grasp the cross that hung from the chain on her neck.

"Of course you would," Jane told her. "She raised you, you were close to her. You were a part of her. Walter was a placeholder, someone you had for the moment."

"He was a good man," Teresa said.

Her husband nodded. "He was. You are forgetting that I knew him. A good man, a kind man, but not a man who lasts with someone forever. Had he lived, he would have made sure you were taken care of, and in his death, his money did the same. But he didn't develop connections with people that could be felt from beyond the grave. I didn't have to be married to him to know that."

Teresa was quiet for a moment. "I suppose you are not wrong," she said, wondering briefly if she was just falling for another one of his tricks or if she really believed it. She decided that it didn't matter; apart from the prospect of never seeing where her mother was buried again, this way did make leaving easier. "Patricia will understand, I can write to her, she can always come along in a year or two if her husband catches the Oregon fever. And…we didn't know Julia for very long…" she trailed off, then looked over at Jane again. "Right?"

He nodded solemnly. "Right. Almost not even at all." He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. "This is the thing to do, Reese. We both come from troubled places. It's time to leave our pain behind us, chase down the last thing keeping us from feeling fulfilled, and take care of it. And then we're in a beautiful place for us to live and Kimball, Wayne, and Grace to finish growing up. It's going to be hard. I'm going to need you to be with me one hundred percent. Can you do that, Teresa?"

She hesitated the briefest instant, and then nodded. "I'm with you. You know that."

His face slowly turned into a grin, he leaned over and kissed her forehead, and then got up off the bed. Reaching out his hand, he pulled her to her feet. "Oregon will be where all the sadness comes to a satisfying conclusion, Mrs. Jane," he told her. "I promise. You'll see."

The way he said it made her believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this one is a little shorter, guys. The next part was too long to combine with this one.**

**I still don't own anything. Mild warnings in this chapter for a couple sensitive topics.**

It always amazed Teresa how quickly her husband was able to come up with money, supplies, support, or whatever else it was he needed. Within a couple of days, one would have thought that they'd been planning this trip west since the previous autumn. It was all quite sudden, but that was the way Jane operated when it came to Red John bandit. And when she'd married him, she'd known that. And she'd married that obsession along with the man and she was going to be faithful to it.

"Remember," he said, "the lighter we travel, the faster we will get there and the more likely we are to keep our oxen alive. "Don't pack anything that you do not need."

Grace wasn't very happy about that; Teresa caught her often gazing longingly at her belongings that she would have to leave behind. "Remember," her mother told her, "we are not going on vacation. We are going to a brand new life. That requires sacrifice."

"I know," Grace told her, sighing.

"Hey," Teresa said, stepping toward her daughter and tugging on her braid, "dresses and jewelry are not happiness. And you'll have more of them in Oregon."

"It's not the dresses and jewelry," Grace said. "Some of them are from Louisa."

Her friend who had died of a fever the summer before. "Bring one of her dresses along," Teresa said. "Wear one of her necklaces. You can take her with you."

She knew that Grace would cope. The girl was, ninety percent of the time, thrilled to death about the adventure. Her boys were different; Kimball seemed to not care if they stayed or went, he was simply okay with whatever his mother and step father decided to do. Wayne was okay doing whatever Kimball was okay doing.

Just as Grace would cope, so would she. Teresa slipped out of bed the night before they were to leave for the trail's starting point, stepping out into the night sky with the moon that shone down on her and the stars that danced across the clear night sky. She loved nights like this, without clouds and with a visible moon. The glow of the neighbor's house, a half a mile away, was visible to the right. They already lived outside of town. They already grew some of their own food. Oregon would be fine for them. More than fine, it'd be a place where they could find peace of mind and leave behind the towns of the east, some of which were starting to get crowded. Teresa let out a deep breath and wandered up the hill to where three tombstones jutted out of the Earth. The first was her mother's, the most weathered, the hardest to read. But she had the name and the dates that were too close together memorized. There was no further inscription; they'd been too poor for that. Teresa dropped down on her knees next to the stone and touched it. "Watch over us, Mother," she said. "We're going to Oregon to find Red John Bandit. It's hard to leave you, I'm sure you know, but I'm still wearing your cross. I'm never taking it off."

The second stone was of her first husband. _Walter Mashburn,_ it read. _1797-1830._ "Walter," she said, simply shaking her head. "This would be something you would do, too. 'Travel light', you'd say. 'We have to travel fast', you'd say." She smiled to herself and shook her head, looking up at the night sky. "I'm sure you approve."

The third stone was the newest, barely weathered, the letters on the front as easy to read as a Bible. _Julia Jane. _And the date. The single date.

Teresa shook her head to clear her eyes. "I don't even know what you'd think," she said. She looked up at the sky again, hoping her throat would clear so she could talk more, but when she remained choked up, she figured it was just as well. She didn't know what else to say.

Maybe Jane was right. Maybe the three people inside the Earth at her feet really weren't 'here'. She couldn't very well tell Grace that she could bring Louisa with her and then mourn the 'loss' of her mother, husband, and daughter. They were already gone, but they were in her heart. So leaving their graves was just one step in her journey toward the Pacific Ocean.

Teresa stood, turned from the miniature cemetery, and took that step.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, SO sorry I haven't updated! I went out to L.A. for another one of my fandoms and had some overtime at work, so I've been super busy. But I'm all settled in at the university again (whoo hoo, year two!) so updates should be more regular.**

**Here we briefly meet some other characters – you should recognize most if not all of them. : )**

Whoops and whistles rang out from all around the wagon train as their rigs began the forward motion that would carry them, slowly but surely, to the Oregon Territory. The oxen appeared less than interested in the whole matter, plodding forward as if they weren't aware that they had to be there by winter or else would turn into food, but the younger members of the party, ranging in age from four to nineteen, ran ahead of the wagons, yelling and waving their arms. From her seat next to her husband, Teresa saw Grace run ahead, her red hair flying behind her, and then turn around, waiting for her brother to catch up to her. Wayne jogged forward, grabbed her hand, and they raced along toward the front of the wagon train.

The two of them didn't even look back to see if Kimball was following them; he was where he'd been since they lined up that morning, walking at one of the oxen's head, a hand on the harness, not interested in racing ahead. He'd see the country soon enough; he had things to do to make life easier on his mother and step father, and helping lead their team was one of those things.

"You're a good boy," Jane called down to him. "You'll make someone a dutiful husband one day!"

"I'm not looking to get married now," Kimball said, glancing over at his parents before facing West again. The oxen he was guiding sneezed. He looked over at it. "Stop that."

"So," Jane said, tilting his head toward his wife, "you've been wandering around these past few days."

"I may have done a little of that," she conceded.

"Mmm Hmm," Jane said, nodding. "What have you picked up on?"

"You're asking me?" she said. "I bet you know everything about everyone here just based on how they stand."

"Eh," Jane said. "You don't learn names very well by posture."

"Okay," she said, motioning toward their train leader, who was atop a stocky chestnut horse. "That's Gale Bertram, our leader. He's got a female servant with two children of her own. The guy trailing us with cattle is Virgil Minelli. He used to drive cattle from Texas; now he wants to settle down and raise them himself."

"Traveling alone," Jane said, shaking his head. "That's sad."

"The guy with the wagon that's about a half dozen ahead of us is also alone," Teresa said. "The guy with the team of mules. He'd always lived with his mother, but according to the blonde girl traveling with her grandfather, she has recently died."

"Hmmm." Jane nodded, scanning the path ahead of them.

Teresa followed his gaze. Wayne and Grace were now walking with some other sojourners, a boy about Wayne or Kimball's age, a young man maybe a year or two older than Kimball, the blonde girl who had told her about the single man's mother, and a couple other kids younger than Grace. "They seem to have made some friends," she noted.

Her husband nodded. "Good. Good to keep them occupied with companionship so they don't figure out our mission."

"Our mission?" Teresa questioned. Jane shushed her, and she lowered her voice so Kimball, who did not appear to have heard her, couldn't hear. "To find Red John Bandit?"

"Precisely," Jane said. "They can't know. It would just complicate things."

"It sure as Hell would," Teresa said. "I don't want them to be put in danger because of your need for vengeance."

"Just keep them out of this," Jane said. "And they won't be. I don't need them to know anything for this to work. I just need you to be here for me. That's all I ask of you, Teresa."

"You ask me plenty more than that," she said, smiling. "You've got me jumping through fire for you. You've got me leaving behind people I care about to run across the country to kill someone who might have finally decided to let you alone. I'm just about damn sure you're going to get me into a whole lot of trouble one day."

"You're not going to get in any trouble," Jane said seriously. "I won't let that happen."

"Really," she said. It didn't sound like a question. She smiled teasingly. "And how exactly are you planning on preventing that? _I'm_ a better shot than you. This country is dangerous, there are Indians and rivers and ruffians…" She shook her head. "But don't you worry about me. I knew this was going to end a disaster the day I married you."

Jane looked sideways at her. "You still married me."

"Yes," she said. "You're a good person, deep down. And when I married you, I knew what I was getting into. When you marry someone, you have to marry everything about them, not just body and mind and heart, but everything else too." She removed one of her hands from her lap and touched his arm. "And that's why I'm sitting here right now."

**In case anyone was wondering (or just in case anyone cares, haha) the Jane/Lisbon conversation at the end here _will_ come back later in the fic. So there's a little fun fact for y'all. ;) I'll try to update again soon, and possibly update Fire of Unknown Origin tomorrow. :) Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and remember, I love reviews!**


	5. Chapter 5

**New update! This chapter is a little shorter, but I'm building to more of the action, so like they're going to Oregon step by step, so am I writing this fic. : )**

**I don't own anything.**

In the evening, the wagons pulled into a circle pattern to keep the animals away from their food and the children safe within the perimeter. "Can't we go explore?" Grace asked her mother after they had eaten. "We're less than twenty miles from the starting point, what could happen?"

Teresa gave her daughter a smile. "Nope!"

"Ah, let them play," Jane said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "This is their country, let them explore it!"

"It's not a good idea," Wayne said. "We can see plenty along our trip, we don't need to be traipsing into the woods with no one around if something happens."

"What a wuss," Kimball said, giving a little laugh.

"I'm…" Wayne searched for a way to appear more impressive. "I'm just looking out for our little sister, here," he said, throwing his arms around Grace's shoulders. "Right, Grace?"

Grace looked at him and a slow grin spread over her face. "Wuss." She grinned at her oldest brother, and he gave her a thumbs up.

"I don't have to sit around and listen to this," Wayne said, looking over to where some were assembling by the fire. "I'm going to go dance."

"No one will dance with you!" Grace yelled after him.

"Grace," Teresa said. "That isn't kind."

She folded her arms. "Well, they won't."

"Yeah they will," Kimball said. "That blonde girl was eyeing him all afternoon."

"She was looking at _you_," Grace said.

Teresa raised her eyebrows over at her husband, but he didn't see. He appeared to be lost in thought, staring West. She reached out with two fingers and touched his arm, much like she had that afternoon. "Hey. Jane. Come back here."

"What?" He looked over at her, his confused face replaced with a smile. "What did you say, my dear?"

"Don't get to Oregon before I do," she warned him.

He gave a slow blink. "I'm sorry." He looked over toward the group of dancers. "Care to join them?"

Teresa looked for her children, but they were long gone. She heard the men with instruments strike up "At the Foot of Yonder Mountain" and smiled at her husband. "Sure."

He led her by the hand to the fire and slid an arm around her waist. "Can't you just breathe better out here?" he whispered.

"Jane," she whispered back. "We're sixteen miles from town."

He smiled. "Sixteen miles closer to Red John Bandit."

"One step at a time," she responded, following his gaze this time as he looked west. She smiled when she saw Grace a few yards from them, in a dance circle with some younger children. 'Yonder Mountain was a slow song, and the four of them holding hands and swaying.

A little to the right of them, the servant of Bertram was in a similar, smaller circle with her two children, on her knees so to better be at their height, swaying back and forth with them. The older one, the girl, appeared tickled to death by the whole situation. She couldn't see the boy's face. The groups of kids dancing together made Teresa smile; most twosomes dancing that night were the husbands and wives and steady eddys; no one really knew each other that well yet unless they'd met prior to the train, but children – or young adults, as her boys were – had a way of attracting to each other quickly.

The song ended, and the men began playing a more upbeat song. It took Teresa a few seconds to figure out what song it was, and when she did, she stepped back from Jane. "I am not going to do – si – do."

"Ah, come on," he said. "Lighten up a little. Look, Grace is doing it."

Teresa looked over to where her daughter was starting to dance with a boy about Rigsby's age, smiling shyly. She turned back to Jane and held out her hand. "You win."

After dancing for what felt like all night, the families retreated to their wagons. Grace climbed into the wagon to settle on top of the sacks of flour, and the boys put up their tent at the front of the Jane wagon.

Teresa crawled under the wagon and flipped over on her back, out of breath and laughing. Jane joined her and hovered over her long enough to kiss her good night, then dropped down on his back next to her. From the sound of his breathing, it seemed he was a bit breathless himself. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" he asked.

"It's been so long since we've danced so late into the night!" she said.

"Yeah," he said. "Our wedding was the last time."

She nodded, not wanting to talk or think about _why_ they had rarely danced since then, and then realized he couldn't see her well. "I think you're right," she said. "It's good to get back to it."

"Did you get a chance to talk to anyone today?" he asked. "I assume you helped with dinner."

"I did," she said. "The women all seem very nice. Bertram's servant woman, especially. Madeline."

"She has kind eyes," Jane said. "Like yours."

"You did a reading on her?"

"Nah," he said. "She's typical. African American woman who is free and respected? She worked for that, and was fortunate to be around people who would accept her. I imagine her relationship with her children's father is not good, I'm not getting the impression that he's dead, but she left him wherever she come from. And her kids, politest little things I've ever seen. She's a churchgoer, and she's had to survive a lot, so her soft interior is protected in a harder outer shell. Like you, a bit, in that way."

"Oh yeah?" she said. "And that boy Grace was dancing with, Craig, what's she like?"

"He's hiding something."

"That's it?" she said after a silence. "He's hiding something?"

She heard her husband sigh. "Aren't we all?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, I am so, **_**so**_** sorry that this took so long to update, but only a few people are reading it, so I hope it wasn't too long of a wait! I'll try to be better with updating this, each chapter requires research and I'm working on Fire of Unknown Origin too, and that one is mostly written already so it's easier and faster to just edit and publish than completely write. But enough of my apologies, here is the next chapter!**

**I don't own anything.**

Teresa felt the wagon lurch as the oxen began to swim. Grace slipped off the flour sacks that she'd been sitting on and landed on top of their kitchen table, tucked near the back of the wagon. Wayne reached down to help her up and fell himself, grunting as he hit the table top. The force of him hitting the furniture, combined with another jerk of the wagon itself, caused the entire contents of the wagon to shift.

Grace slid closer to the front of the wagon, and her eyes widened in fear as she grabbed hold of one of the rings holding the canopy up, struggling not to fall into the water. "I can't swim!" she shouted.

Teresa knew that the girl could, they had all learned in the river by their house, but swimming in a calm, three foot deep river and swimming in something with, not only a legitimate current, but dozens and dozens of hoofed animals, was something different entirely. She slid down off of her perch, where she'd had her arms protecting their fragile objects, and grabbed her daughter by the elbows, pulling her back to the middle of the wagon. "It's okay, Grace," she told the girl, who, now that she was not in any immediate danger, appeared miffed at the idea of her mother protecting her.

"Teresa!"

Teresa's eyes flashed to the front of the wagon, where she could no longer see her husband sitting at the top. "Jane?" She pushed Grace behind her and shouted to Kimball to hang on to her, and then moved to the front of the wagon, where she saw Jane in the water. "_Jane!"_

It took her a moment to realize that he had gone in voluntarily, guiding the oxen by their harnesses, making their heads face forward and not with the current. She settled onto the driving board and grabbed their reins, careful to be maintaining contact with the other oxen, the one that her husband couldn't hang on to. "Jane, if you let go of that harness, I swear to God I will shoot you," she threatened.

"Wouldn't dream of it!" he called, glancing back at her to smile.

"Just swim!" she shouted. Jane wasn't the best swimmer. He could swim, yes, but she wouldn't have him goofing off in that river. It was nothing but a way to get him hurt.

The wagon tipped, the inside taking on some water. Teresa turned to see Kimball using a frying pan to bail what had gotten in back out. All three of her children, while secured in the wagon, were wet. Satisfied that they were safe, she turned back, watching her husband paddle alongside the oxen, one hand on the harness. At least this river wasn't so large.

The wagon lurched again as the oxen found their footing and began to pull it out of the river. Not expecting such a jostle, Teresa nearly fell off of the wagon, her fast reflexes enabled her to grab hold of the seat and remain on.

"Mama!" Came a strange voice from the back of the wagon. Teresa turned around and her eyes widened. One of their flour sacks had burst and her wet children were covered in it. Wayne looked slightly angry. Grace looked like she wanted to cry.

When the wagon was on dry land, Teresa shouted to Jane to lead the oxen along the river a ways, away from the hustling wagon train. He obeyed, guiding them a hundred yards south to where the river was less populated.

Teresa got her children out of the wagon and led them to the river. She grabbed Grace's hands in her own. "Do not let go of me. Do you understand?" The girl nodded, and stepped back into the river, ducking under the water, letting the current sweep away most of the flour and staying under until she could no longer hold her breath. Then she popped back up, gasping, and let her mother pull her out of the river.

"Wayne? Kimball?" she asked them.

Kimball was kneeling at the base of the river. He dunked his head under and shook it, letting the sticky flour get out of his hair. He threw his head back and cleared his throat. "I'm good."

Wayne, watching his older brother, knelt beside him and repeated what Kimball had done. "I'm good too. As well."

Teresa was helping Grace wring out her dress and hair. "There you go," she told the redheaded girl. "You'll be more comfortable once this dries."

"Thank you," she said, smiling.

"There we go," Jane said, clapping his hands together. "Very nice, everyone is comfortable. Now, hurry up, we have a wagon train to re-join. Oregon isn't going to come to us!"

* * *

"Kimball Mashburn," said the flirtatious blone girl, swaying slightly from side to side as she smiled down at the young man. "May I have this dance?"

Teresa, from her place sitting at the base of the tent that Jane had pitched for them, looked over at her oldest son curiously. He wasn't exactly _disinterested _in girls, but he hadn't made involvement with them his number one priority either.

He was looking at this particular girl as if he was expecting her to play some sort of trick on him. "I don't really dance," he said finally.

"Oh, that's no problem," she said, reaching out and grabbing his hands, leaning back slightly to help pull him to his feet. "I can teach you." She certainly was forward, Teresa thought, as she half led, half pulled him over to the dancers. "I'm Summer Edgecomb," Teresa heard her say. "I came here with my grandfather…"

"You care to dance?" Jane asked, coming to stand next to her.

She looked up at him. "I'm tired. It's been a long day."

"It has," he said, nodding in agreement, dropping down beside her.

"But hey," she said, smiling over at him. "We're that much closer."

"We are," he said. "Though I must say, I don't like where we stopped tonight. We could have pushed another two miles."

"We could have," she said. "But it's only two miles, Jane. Oregon is waiting for us."

"Yes," he said. "But a six month journey, if we do two miles extra each day, that's over three hundred and fifty miles, or several weeks we could be getting there sooner."

"Talk to Bertram," she said. "And also talk to him about letting more of us go off and hunt. Weapons experience should be valued over gender out here."

"Yeah," he said, laughing. "Some of these guys couldn't shoot a buffalo in a barrel."

"You could maybe, if it was a large buffalo and a small barrel," she joked.

"Ah, well…" he shrugged. "So, are you feeling okay? It was a bit of a rough one, today."

She nodded. "Patrick Jane," she said. "I've essentially had to fend for myself since I was twelve years old, save those few years with Walter. I've shot more rabbits and raccoons than you've won card games; I've nearly starved to feed my children, and here you are, never hungry a day in his life, asking me if I'm feeling okay."

He chuckled, looking down at his hands and then out to where the dancers are. "Your kids seem to be friendly with the others," he noted, and Teresa realized that all three of them were dancing, Kimball with Summer, Wayne with a sandy haired girl that was considerably shorter than him, and Grace with Craig.

"Yeah," she said. "They're growing up."

They sat in silence for a little while, and then Jane looked at her, motioning with his head to their tent. "You wanna…head in there?" He smiled. "Everyone else is occupied with the fire and the dance-y stuff."

Teresa looked back at her sons and her daughter. "You know there probably won't be any more children, Jane," she said. She hated it now, that she always felt the need to throw that disclaimer out before they were intimate, but she'd gotten pregnant so quickly before, and it had been nearly a year now since that awful morning…she tried to not remind him every time, it must get tiresome for someone who constantly insisted that it was okay, they were older, he didn't need children from her. But she still felt guilty enough to have to say it on occasion. Watching her three children, Walter's children, dance with others their age reinforced her need to make that roundabout apology to him again.

As usual, he just smiled at her. "I'd take your loyalty and companionship over the most fertile woman in between these seas," he said, offering her his hand.

_Damn_, she thought, as she took it, he always knew the right thing to say.

It was always nice to be appreciated.

**Hope you enjoyed it! Remember I love reviews, and for those of us in the United States, less than a month until The Crimson Ticket airs! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**New chapter time! I promise I'll get Fire of Unknown Origin updated within a couple of days. And in addition, for those of you on Twitter, I have a new account WBTP_Fanfiction just for my fanfic updates, so if you don't get on here regulary, or want to know what to expect updated next, you can check there. : )**

**I still don't own anything. Dang, that's depressing.**

Sunday was a day of rest. Teresa was glad of this, it was the way God intended for them to live, but she could tell that stopping for the day was distressing her husband. "We left late already," he said, pacing in front of her. "We'll be caught in the mountains for the winter."

"Jane," she said, stepping closer to his pace line and wondering, as she did on occasion, why she insisted on calling him by his surname. "Jane, it's going to be okay."

He stopped and looked at her. "We left civilization almost a full month after the big, organized party did. It's _always _a concern, getting there before winter. We're really in danger of not making it."

When he put it like that…Teresa bit her lip. "I'm sure Bertram knows what he's doing," she reasoned. "Maybe a break now so we can push hard the last few weeks."

"Eh," Jane said, still looking discontented. "Well, I suppose I'm going to go hunt, you know, for when we're starving to death in the mountains in the middle of the winter."

Teresa didn't bother telling him that anything he caught now would be long eaten by the time they reached the mountains. She knew he wasn't likely to bring any game back, anyway.

After Madeline read from the Holy Book, the train members dispersed, some retreated to their wagons, others wandered off into the grass, and still others spread out blankets on the grass and began to sew. Teresa noticed that Summer Edgecomb was with them, but she wasn't sewing. She was fiddling with the dress in her hands as if to play act.

Teresa cocked her head. Knowing Patrick Jane for three years and being his wife for one more made her always search for the one thing that was out of place. The hint to a person's true intention.

Summer Edgecomb's true intention was not to sew that morning.

Teresa saw her continually glance over at her grandfather's wagon. The old man was lying under it, reading the Bible. As the minutes rolled on, he appeared to grow sleepy, and eventually his head nodded forward and the book slowly tilted.

Teresa looked back to his wagon, and a slow smile came over her face. She jumped up, bunched the dress into a wad, and tip toed over to her wagon, tossing it inside and then taking off for the other end of the wagon circle.

"Hey, Ma?"

Grace stood next to her, the man called Craig in tow. "I want you to meet Craig. Officially, I mean."

"Craig O'Laughlin," he said, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, accepting the hand shake. "I notice you've been dancing with my daughter."

"Well, she's a good dancer," said Craig. Grace smiled broadly.

"Well, she doesn't take after her mother," Teresa said, tilting her head and smiling.

"Aw, nonsense, mother," Wayne said, jumping out of the wagon. "You're a fine dancer."

Teresa wasn't listening to her son. "What are you doing?" she demanded of him.

"What?"

"What's with the gun?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," he said. "I was going to hunt."

"Father is hunting," Teresa said.

Wayne looked confused. "Um…no he's not. I have the gun."

"Son of a bitch," Teresa mumbled. "Give me the gun. I'm going to shoot him." Wayne handed it over, looking slightly uncomfortable. Craig and Grace stood awkwardly beside them.

A shot rang out. Near. Too near. Craig dove for cover, Wayne grabbed his sister and threw her toward the wagon, hurtling toward it himself. Teresa dropped to her knees, still holding the gun, shifting it to the ready position.

Someone was screaming. "Wayne, get your sister into the wagon _now_!" Teresa shouted, feeling red in the face from the effort. "_Now_!"

Another shot. This time, Teresa was able to tell where it had come from. Jumping to her feet, and keeping her gun up, she ran with some others to near the front of the train, where one of the boys that Wayne had walked with the first day was lying in a pool of his own blood. One bullet wound sliced through his stomach, the other solidly between his eyes. She closed her eyes as it became clear what the aimed bullet was for.

A younger boy, considerably younger than even Grace, was in his mother's arms, screaming and crying. "He picked up his daddy's gun," came a voice. "Hit his older brother right in the gut."

Teresa turned. "Madeline." She looked back at the body. "_Oh_, this is awful, God rest him."

"Amen," Madeline said, making the sign of the cross. "We're not even to Chimney Rock yet. They say the worst part of the trail is farther along. More death, destruction…" she trailed off. "But it's still the best bet for my kids."

Teresa wanted to tell the woman that she thought her children were beautiful, but it wasn't the time. The crying brother was shaking in his mother's arms; the woman, looking too young to have children of this age and at the same time looking old and worn, was crying without tears. An older man, probably her husband, was on his knees near the body.

"Teresa!"

She turned. Her husband was running toward her, looking out of breath. "What happened? Oh…" he trailed off, taking a step back and putting the back of his hand to his mouth. "Oh, that's…" He grabbed his wife's arm. "Come on."

She let him pull her away from the scene. She couldn't do anything anyway, and she was sure the sight reminded him of when his daughter – Charlotte, that is – had been so terribly murdered. "You okay?" she asked him, gently loosening her arm from his grasp.

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a smile. "Never better."

"Well," she said, "that's good, because you seem to have forgotten to take your gun out on this hunt of yours."

"Yeah, I wasn't hunting," Jane said. "Not important, Teresa, a life just ended and you're concerned about where I was? For the love of…"

"Oh, his poor brother," Teresa said, dropping to the ground. "He's going to have to live knowing that…" she trailed off, realizing that her comment would hit home with her husband, and hard.

He gave her a grim smile, settling down next to her. "His father would do him a lot of good placing one between the eyes like he did the older one."

"Jane!"

"All right, maybe a little harsh," her husband admitted. "But honestly, in the days, months Angela and Charlotte died, if I had gotten my hands on a gun, I would have done it. There was a time I almost succeeded anyway, with nothing but a spoon and half a shoelace."

"Don't talk about that," Teresa said. She hadn't known him in those days, but he had told her the story before. She didn't need to hear it again, of the dark times before they met, when he'd lived off the edge of control and only a mental institution in Pennsylvania, as wretched as the conditions were, had saved him. She already felt like it was her duty to keep him from dangling off that cliff again, hearing the stories of what could happen to him if he lost his mind again were too terrifying.

* * *

By nightfall, the unfortunate boy was buried, and his father, mother, and young brother were turning their wagon around. "We're going back to Carolina," the father had said. "It's bad enough we're leaving Wade's grave behind. We're not leaving our Carolina along with it."

"All right, y'all," Bertram had said, addressing the group once they were minus one wagon. "What happened today…just awful. This is a friendly reminder to all parents to keep guns, dynamite, and any other weapon away from anyone who is young. We've got months of travel ahead of us, and aside from not wanting any more tragic accidents like this, we can't afford to lose any cattle. Understood?"

Wayne came up to his mother's side and put a hand on her elbow. "Ma," he said. "Ma. I…I realize that this might not be the time, but…"

"Then it probably isn't," Teresa said. "After what happened today, Wayne…"

"It…it is about today." Wayne shifted his weight. "When that shot rang out, I jumped to cover Grace."

"You did," Teresa said, realizing she had not praised her boy for that yet. "You're a good brother, Wayne."

"The thing is," the boy continued, looking uncomfortable, "Craig dove the other way. He didn't care one bit about protecting her."

Teresa looked at him for a long moment, trying to remember that afternoon. Now that she thought about it, Craig _had_ jumped the other way. But she barely knew the boy; there were explanations, maybe he saw Wayne dive for his sister, maybe he was already moving that way and the shot forced him to accelerate. He wasn't necessarily not concerned for her daughter's safety.

Wayne's comment did bother her, though; as a mother, she just couldn't help but worry a bit. That night, when she and Jane crawled inside their tent, she lay awake long after his breathing became slow and regular, thinking about her children, thinking about her husband, thinking about Madeline and Craig and Summer and that girl Rigsby danced with sometime that she still didn't know the name of, and thinking about how many miles they had to go before winter.

And deciding that Jane was right. They needed to speed up, or they'd never make it. Not at the rate that they were going.


	8. Chapter 8

**So terribly sorry for the update delay. I blame school, work, and fangirling over my shows getting promos. :D**

Teresa was jolted awake the following morning by an argument from a few wagons down. She looked for her husband; he wasn't beside her in the tent. Curious, she crawled out and found him standing a few feet away, staring down the circle toward the fight. Other pioneers were outside of their wagons, unsure of approaching the argument.

It was a married couple, the Flynns, if Teresa remembered correctly. She hadn't spent much time with them; the wife hadn't been very friendly and spent most of her time walking around with her nose in the air. Teresa didn't like her one bit.

"What are they fighting about?" she asked Minelli, the older cattle driver who was standing nearest her.

He shrugged, shaking his head. "She's blaming him for something. I couldn't quite make out what."

"I don't think they should be fighting so late at night…"

Teresa jumped a bit, having not seen or heard the younger man walk up next to them. "Luther Wainwright, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes, pleasure," Luther said, nodding.

Tersesa cocked her head in amusement. This Luther fellow appeared genuinely distressed over this fight, and it wasn't because it was night time, or even that there were such marital strains going on in their wagon train. He seemed unaware that people actually fought, and he was just as unaware as how to handle it. "I gotta take a walk," he announced, turning around and leaving the site.

Teresa's husband caught her eye. "Mama's boy," he said. "On his own for the first time."

"How would you know that?" Minelli asked, looking skeptical but curious.

Jane smiled. "Oh, Virgil." He grinned at his wife. "He must be new."

* * *

Kimball was staring at his step father with his arms folded. "I don't understand."

Jane blinked. "What is there not to understand? The oxen have names, you don't have to call them 'beast'."

"Kristina and Erica are both longer names than 'beast' is," Kimball said. "What you're saying doesn't have an advantage in efficiency. It makes no sense."

"Oh, nice," Wayne said from where he sat in the shade, shaving a stick down to a point with his knife.

"What does it matter what I call them?" Kimball asked.

"You want me to just call you 'boy'?" Jane asked.

"I'm your son. Sort of," Kimball said. "You're supposed to call me Kimball."

"You tell him!" Wayne called.

Kimball looked over at his brother. "Stop helping."

"It's just some oxen names," Teresa said, coming over and hooking her elbow with Jane's. "What's the big deal?"

Before he could answer her, the loud, carrying voice of Bertram silenced the group. "Folks," he said, "we have travled long and hard today, got in that extra half hour. Good work. We will stop here for the night and cross the next river tomorrow." He pointed toward where the prairie was split by a river, about two hundred yards from their camp.

"Why don't we just cross the river tonight?" Jane called, squinting against the lowering sun.

The wagon train got quiet, and then a few stray men called out in agreement with him. Most of the women appeared to be unsettled by the thought, but they remained quiet.

"We won't get everyone across before dark," Bertram said. "And the river is running high right now. We have to see if it will drop. It's just too dangerous at the present moment, especially with the kids."

"Maybe if everyone was a little more concerned with actually _making it_ to Oregon," he muttered.

Teresa inhaled through her teeth. "Jane, stop."

"I'm just saying," he said, shrugging. "You agree with me, don't you?"

"Of course I want to get to Oregon," Teresa said. "Of course I want to help you. Getting on bad terms with our guide is not going to get us anywhere."

"Oh, tour guide," Jane said. "He's never even been to Oregon. I'm going to scout out that river right now, and we'll see if we can get over it tonight."

"Jane, don't you dare…Jane!" she shouted, and a couple of women, Madeline and Summer among them, turned to look curiously at her. _Yes, I call him by his last name, get over it,_ she wanted to yell at them. She decided to simply smile instead.

"He's quite the wild one," Madeline said, walking over to Teresa as the other women dispersed. "Isn't he?"

Teresa smiled. "Yeah, he is."

"Isn't it something when you're the one who gets the wild ones under control?" she asked.

"He's a really good person," Teresa said. "He's got his faults, his baggage, but…" she shook her head. "He's a great guy. A good guy. When he cares, he'll do anything."

Madeline nodded. "I had one like that," she said. "Or I thought I did, anyway. Turns out he didn't care. About me, or our kids. You're lucky you found a man who'd take on a woman with children by another man. I haven't been so fortunate, though I don't have to tell you I have hardly the same opportunities."

Teresa wasn't sure what to say about that. "Well, I'm sure Oregon has many possibilities for all of us," she said diplomatically.

Madeline smiled. "I hope so. I don't want my kids grown up used and beaten. And they're free, so I'm already partway there." She looked over to where her children were sitting by the night's fire, listening to Grace and Summer, who appeared to be telling a story. The two mothers watched for a moment, and then Madeline turned back to Teresa. "So no kids with Jane?" She cocked her head. "Yet, at least?"

Teresa knew she'd be asked the question, but she still felt a lump in her throat when it came. She sucked in a breath, and looked away from the other woman. "I was pregnant. But not for as long as I'd expected to be. And since then there have been no babies." She was mildly surprised she'd admitted that much to a relative stranger. But her husband was right. Madeline did have kind eyes.

Those kind eyes were looking sympathetically at the other woman. "I'm sorry."

Teresa gave a small nod. "Thanks."

"So," Madeline asked after a moment of relative silence. "Where is your husband? It's too dark to hunt, and I do not see him over there entertaining the children with your daughter and your son's lady."

"Summer is not Kimball's 'lady'," Teresa said. "Kimball is too young to have a 'lady'."

Madeline gave an amused laugh. "But seriously, where is he?"

"I don't know," she said, turning around and scanning the circle. "That's odd…" she suddenly remembered where he'd said he'd be. "He's scouting out the river," she said. "He told me."

"That was a long time ago…wasn't it?" Madeline said, frowning.

"Ugh," she said under her breath. "I'll go look for him. I'm sure he's just down by the river trying to catch a fish with his bare hands so he can brag some more."


	9. Chapter 9

**New chapter time! Sorry I haven't updated Fire of Unknown Origin in a few days; that will be coming soon!**

**And again, I still don't own anything.**

Teresa reached the river and looked upstream. A couple of kids were playing, tossing rocks in the flowing water and pointing out the ripples. That's what it looked like they were doing anyway, it was rather hard to see.

She looked across the river, where the water led to land, and then back into darkness, with just the stars above. There wasn't even much of a moon, which made seeing incredibly difficult. Teresa tucked her hair behind her ear. "Jane?" she called out. No answer. Of course. She headed downriver, becoming more conscious than usual that she was barefoot.

It really was hard to see. She could barely make out the stray trees, coming up out of the ground like arms trying to claw their way from the earth. Or the…Teresa stopped, feeling an unpleasant chill come over her as she saw the form at the edge of the river. "Jane," she said meaning it to come out much louder than it did. She picked up her skirt to move faster, hoping that she was just hallucinating the shape of her husband with the top half of his body in the river. "_Jane!_"

She fell down next to him and grabbed his shirt, hauling him out of the water and pulling him into her lap. His eyes were closed, his face seemed too pale in the dim moonlight, and he was limp. "_No,_" she said to him loudly, as if she was lecturing him on his current state. She let out a sound that she was sure would attract some sort of prairie animal, standing and pulling him up by the under arms. "Jane, wake up!" she shouted, shaking him. His head flopped around, his limbs hung down, and she was strong, but not strong enough to keep him up like this. She dragged his body a few more feet before lowering him to the ground, glad that the slight incline going down to the river left his feet higher than his head. "Help!" She shouted, her lungs already hurting from the force. "_Help!_"

She slapped Jane across the face. His head lolled over to one side. She slapped it back the other way. Nothing. She looked up and saw some people running toward her. She wiped a tear from her eye and pushed down on Jane's stomach with both of her hands. "_Jane!_" she shouted again, leaning over to slam her head against his chest while she continued to press down on his stomach, desperate to get him to expel water.

The first one to reach her was Minelli, Luther not far behind. "How long has he been like that?" The former demanded, dropping down next to her. "How long?"

"I don't know," she said, continuing to beat his chest and stomach.

"Stop it, stop it!" Minelli said, pushing her back as gently as he could. "That's not helping." He rolled Jane over and motioned for Teresa to grab his feet. "Hold them up," the cattle man demanded. "Stand up, and hold them up."

She obliged, watching while Minelli turned Jane's head to the side. "Luther, you worthless Mama's boy, stop standing there and put your hand on his head," Minelli demanded. The younger man, who did appear scared stiff, dropped to his knees and obliged. Minelli began pounding Jane on the back, shouting at Teresa to keep holding his feet up.

For a few moments, it looked like it was going to be all for nothing. Teresa bit her lip. Then, the wonderful sound of choking filled the night air, and she saw, in the dim moon light, her husband coughing up the river water.

Teresa dropped to the ground near him and grabbed his hand. "Jane! Jane!"

Her husband's eyes were still closed, but he was no longer spitting up water, and she could hear him begin to breathe normally again. She rolled him over and pulled him into her lap again, his shoulders against the bottom of her rib cage, and hugged him tightly.

"Ma?"

She turned to see Kimball and Grace run up to her, looking horrified. "Oh my God," her son said, falling to his knees next to his mother and putting an arm around her. "Is he okay?"

"He's breathing," she said, letting out a relieved sigh and becoming aware of just how sore her eyes were. "He's going to be okay." She felt her son squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

"Jane," she said, looking down at him. His eyes opened and they fixated on her.

And he spoke.

And his words hurt a million times more than her eyes.

* * *

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say or what to feel. All she knew was that the empty, lonely, terrifying feeling that had come over her when she saw him by the river had returned. And this time it was almost worse.

_Hello. Who are you?_

Who was she? She was his wife. She was the woman who had brought him back to Earth after years of spending his days in nothing but a severely depressed state. She was the one who was packing up everything and going out into the great unknown for him to avenge the murders of his old family. She was the one who had saved him.

But he didn't remember. He didn't remember anything. He didn't remember her, he didn't remember his first wife, and he didn't remember his first daughter. He didn't remember Red John Bandit.

And because he didn't remember all that grief, he couldn't possibly remember how much that Teresa had done for him, given him, and cared about him. And without remembering that, there was no reason to remember her. Because she had helped him deal with grief that he no longer knew existed.

"Is this going to be forever?" Grace asked a doctor in the group.

He shook his head. "I've heard of people who never get their memory back. I've heard of people who have, I…there is no possible way to give a guarantee in this area."

When she relayed that message to her mother, Teresa had nearly broken down again. But this time, she held it together, pitching the tent for the night while Jane sat near the wagon, drawing in the sand with his finger.

She walked over and sat beside him. "What are you doing?"

"See this?" he said to her, pointing. She looked, barely able to see what he had drawn. A house, a square with a triangle roof, and an X making the square into four other triangles. "Yes."

"Drew it with one line," he told her. "Can you do that?"

"Um…" she leaned forward and began to repeat the image. One line short. "Hang on," she said, attempting it again. Same problem. A third try yielded a dissimilar result.

"So," Jane said after a silence. "You're my wife?"

She nodded. "I am."

"Well, I don't know much about your personality, responsibility, loyalty, or affection," he said, "but on looks alone, it would seem that I have a pretty good taste."

She smiled, wondering why in the Hell that line made her blush a little. "Well," she said, "everyone thinks they have good taste."

He smiled. "I suppose so," he conceded. "Here, point your finger," he said, taking her hand and tracing the house in the sand, using only one line. "That's how you do it."

"I see," she said, smiling. She didn't see. She didn't know what the heck he did differently than she had. But she'd take it. Him showing her tricks after giving her an opportunity to figure it out was just like the Patrick Jane that she knew, and it reassured her. He was alive and he might remember everything in the morning. She just needed to give him time.

"Are you tired?" she asked him. "You've had quite the night."

"So I hear," he said. "I am. Is this where we sleep?" he asked, pointing to the tent.

"It's where you will sleep tonight," she said. "You've had a long day, I'm going to sleep over with the kids."

"We have kids!" Jane exclaimed. "How many?"

"My-my kids," she said. "I have…children. You're my second husband."

"Ah," Jane said. He looked over at her, and then back at the tent. "Are you angry with me?" he asked her.

"No!" she protested. "Of course not. Why?"

"Well," he said, "I almost died, and you're spending the night in another tent."

Teresa blinked. "Oh…" she said, struggling for words. She thought that he might want his space, but he sounded hurt that she wanted to be away from him. And really, it wasn't that, it was her thinking that he might want to be away from her. It wasn't like he loved her, she was someone who he was just _told_ was his wife. But at the same time… "I'll sleep in the tent with you," she said, reaching out and taking his hand. He squeezed it, as the real Jane did, but he didn't run his thumb up and down the side of her hand a couple of times. The real Jane always did that.

The crawled into the tent and he settled down on his back, folding his hands over his chest. She lay down next to him, also on her back, wanting to hold him and fall asleep thanking God that he was alive, but at the same time feeling too weird to do it. Because he didn't know her. She'd be holding a man who didn't know how much they'd been through, and that just felt wrong.

* * *

"I'm so glad that he's okay," Grace said as she helped Kimball set up the tent.

"Yeah," he said. "That was close." He looked up. "Who do you think did that to him?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head and biting her lower lip. "I didn't know anyone here didn't like him that much. People didn't like him back home either, but…you never got anyone attempting to kill him."

"You know what else never would have happened back home?" Kimball said. "Or you know what would never have happened before that guy came into our life?"

Grace looked confused. "What?"

"Ma would notice that Wayne hasn't been home all night either."

"He's just going for a walk with Sarah," she said.

"Yeah," Kimball agreed. "But Ma would have noticed that."


	10. Chapter 10

**Here is the next chapter. Warning for some material of a mature and sensitive nature. **

That night, Teresa dreamed about loss as if she was reliving every terrible moment in her life. Her mother's death, the news brought to them by the elderly servant of a neighbor. Her brothers, beaten within an inch of their lives by their father, Tommy crying, James withdrawing within himself, and Teresa holding it together whenever she fell under her father's hand. Then her father's death, the realization that the four Lisbon children were on their own, and the long hard days that followed. Then it was like she was flying through a glowing tunnel, bright lights on either side of her, much brighter than any candle. Her dream refocused on the day that she had learned of Walter's death, of his horse traveling too fast, tripping and sending both of them over the edge of the mountain. Teresa gathering her children to her and telling them that they would be okay, that she would protect them, that they didn't have to worry. It occurred to her more than once that she couldn't leave the Mashburns alone the way her parents had, in her mind, deserted the Lisbon's.

Then another rush forward in time, to the morning when she'd met Jane at the door after he'd fed the chickens, tears already running down her face, to inform him that his child was coming.

"_It's too soon," he said, his eyes fixing on her._

_She nodded, swallowing. "I know," she said in barely a whisper._

_He put his arm around her and led her into their room, biting his lip. "You're going to be okay," he told her brushing the hair away from her face._

_She shifted her weight, not hard, at five months she was showing but not to the extent of being too uncomfortable. She hadn't done this in a dozen years; she'd thought she was done, and now it was happening again four months before it was supposed to. "God," she said, covering her face in her hands and shaking._

_Jane put a hand on the top of her head and another on her stomach, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "It's okay," he said again, not sounding like he meant it_

_She bit her lip and whimpered, and Jane took a hand in both of his and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," she said, the tears coming freely. She shifted her weight so her head and shoulders were elevated on the pillow and tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling and trying to regulate her breathing. She wasn't sure what was worse, what her body was doing or the grief she was already feeling. She decided that the sorrow was a million times worse. She'd been in three confinements; she knew what to do. She had no idea how to deal with something like this._

She jolted awake then, sitting up straight and gasping for air. It took her a minute or two to remember where she was, in a tent under the open sky somewhere in the Great Plains. Her mouth hanging open, she panted, finding it just as difficult to calm her respiratory system as it had been a year ago.

The morning hadn't ended there. It had gone on for several more hours, including that awful moment when Grace, confused as to where her mother and father were, had wandered into the bedroom. Both Teresa and Jane had began screaming, holding out their hands as if it would block her from being in the room. Teresa could still hear their frantic voices shouting "Get out!" at the girl, desperate to keep her from the tragedy that was unfolding.

Their extreme reaction to her presence had caused Grace to run. Less than an hour later it was over. Teresa thanked God that her subconscious hadn't subjected her to the rest of that morning. And that her consciousness, although it was now taking her back in time, skipped over to that evening.

"_We have to name her," Teresa said, taking the cup of water that her husband offered her, her third one that afternoon._

"_Okay," he replied, pulling her hair back from her face again._

"_And we can bury her out by my mother and Walter."_

"_Of course we can," he said, nodding. She finished the cup of water and set it on the table by the bed. He took her hand again._

"_How are you feeling?" he asked her._

_She wasn't sure. She felt weak, she felt tired, and she felt like she was going to lose the water he was giving her to nausea. And of course, she was heartbroken. She'd been absolutely thrilled to discover she was pregnant, and now…_

"_I'm tired," she told him. "And sad."_

_He gave her a sad look. "At least you're okay," he told her, touching her chin. "We have that to be grateful about."_

"_I suppose," she whispered, closing her eyes slightly._

_Jane got up and walked around to the other side of the bed, getting under the covers with her and turning on his side. She rolled from her back to face him and he curled his arms around her._

Teresa looked at the man sleeping beside her now. He had been so sweet to her, so loving, so _there_ when they'd lost Julia…the one good thing that came from that time was the realization, over and over again, of how much he loved her. And now…now the man at her side didn't remember any of it. She was carrying their tragedy, Hell, she was carrying _his _tragedy around with her and he had no idea. Those events had made them strong. And now it was as if they'd never happened.

* * *

Teresa took the reins at the wagon that morning as the train set out for the West again. "You stay in the wagon with the kids," she told her husband. "This river is shallow enough that the oxen won't have to swim."

"The oxen," he repeated thoughtfully. "Do they have names?"

"You named them Kristina and Erica," Kimball told him. "Do you remember that?"

He shook his head. "Can't say that I do."

"Then I'm sorry I brought it up," Kimball said. "Stupid names for oxen."

"Do you remember us at all?" Grace wanted to know, cocking her head to the side.

"I'm sure you all are very memorable," Jane said, smiling at her. "But alas, I wouldn't have picked you out in a crowd as my step children." He looked around. "Isn't there another boy?"

"Wayne," Grace said. "He is riding across with his girl friend's wagon."

Teresa drowned them out as she guided the oxen across the river. It was a little deeper than she'd thought, but the animals were able to keep their footing. Nevertheless, she let out a sigh of relief when they were safely across.

"How far are we going today?" Jane wanted to know when they stopped at noon for a brief meal.

"About five more miles," she said. "It's a slow process. One step at a time.

"I think it'd be nice to just camp out here," he said. "We'd certainly be away from the crowds."

The crowds. She looked at him. "Are you starting to remember anything?"

He gave her a smile. "No," he admitted. "But the crowds are part of why we left, yes?"

"Partly," she said. "It was a reason that I agreed."

"So it was my idea," he said. "That makes sense. You'd want to stay near the graves of your mother and first husband."

"How did you…"

"It's obvious," he said. Teresa supposed she shouldn't have been so surprised.

"Hey," she said, reaching over and taking his hand. "You wanna go for a walk tonight? Just you and me?" She tipped her head. "I am your wife, after all, you probably should know some things about me."

Her husband smiled. "I know plenty about you just by watching you today," he said. "But of course."

* * *

That night, when the dance circle began, Teresa watched her oldest son and Summer Edgecomb join in, twirling to the music and looking like they were having the time of their lives. Grace and Craig were near the edge of the circle, seeming to talk while they danced. Turning her head to look for Wayne, she saw him and Sarah walking off toward the edge of the wagon circle. Teresa took her husband's hand and led him in the other direction.

"So," he said once they had gotten a few minutes from the camp, "what is our story?"

"Well," Teresa said, "we met after you stopped pretending to be a fake psychic."

He raised his eyebrows. "I was wondering why no one was calling me Patrick Jane the Magnificent."

She blinked a couple of times. "Wow. Okay, so we got married a couple years after knowing each other, and then this spring we decided to set out for Oregon and make a better life for ourselves and for the kids." She shrugged. "That's us in a nutshell, I suppose."

He looked off across the prairie and nodded. "So few trees in this place," he commented, looking toward a few such plants a few hundred yards ahead of them. She nodded. "You're upset," Jane said. "You're upset that I can't remember, and not just because I can't, but because of what I'm forgetting, isn't that right?" he said. "We've survived things together, haven't we?"

She nodded. "We have."

He nodded back at her. "I see. Well…" he looked at the ground. "How do I usually make you feel better? Embarrass somebody else? Take you off somewhere private?"

"Sometimes you do a card trick, mind game," she said. "Sometimes you make me chase you. Sometimes you make a satirical political rant."

"Ah," Jane said, nodding. "Well, as I don't know who the politicians are, and the cards are back in the wagon…" he jogged forward a few steps, looking back at her with a grin on his face.

She cocked her head as she jogged a few more steps, and then stopped and gave a little hop in the air. "Teresa Jane, play along!"

She allowed herself to smile and lifted her skirts, running after him as he darted toward the trees. He was going slow enough that she could gain on him, looking back to give her that grin that reminded her of when she began to realize she was sweet on him, before any of the sadness had happened.

And then he stopped, stopped so quickly she almost ran into him. "What the-" she started, and then became aware that the silent night, save for the music in the distance, wasn't so silent any more. There was buzzing, buzzing of insects, and when she looked where her husband was looking, her face paled.

Below the trees laid a rotted corpse, seemingly human, the flesh almost completely eaten off of the bones. Flies surrounded the remaining bits, making the skeleton appear to move.

Above it, on the tree and in the light of a full moon, was a faded bloody smiley face. If the moon hadn't shown so brightly, they probably would have missed it.

She looked sideways at her husband, whose heavy breathing was now louder to her than the flies. His hands were shaking, and when he turned to her, she recognized his eyes.

Those eyes remembered everything.

"I'm so sorry," she said, watching the eyes change as the memories came rushing back and the pain set in. He turned back to the smiley face and stared a moment longer, then he looked at the remains, and then back at his wife. He turned and walked a few steps before falling to his knees.

She ran over and dropped down beside him as he rolled onto his side and stared blankly. For one awful moment she thought he was dead. And then she heard his breathing again, labored, full of grief.

"Anglea, Charlotte," he said, shaking his head ever so slightly. He looked up at her. "Julia."

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Yes," she said, nodding, feeling so terrible for him having to come to this realization all at once, and at the same time grateful that he knew her again. "Are you all right?"

He sighed. She knew it was a dumb question. Of course he wasn't all right. But it was the only thing she could think of to say.

A question that stupid didn't deserve a response, but he gave her one anyway. "Never better."

_Sure,_ she thought, but didn't ask for any more. She knew he'd been better, he knew he'd been better, but that was such a Jane like thing to say, to act as if he had control of the situation. She knew good and well he didn't, but he'd never admit to that.

Never.

At least not with words. He was much more comfortable with actions, and he told her that he needed her there much more clearly than he could have said it when he let out another breath and reached his hand toward hers. She closed her fingers around his own and held on.

**So I hope that flashback and bits from Fugue in Red and The Crimson Hat weren't too much for you guys, there! This should be the only chapter to warrant a warning, we will revisit the miscarriage in later chapters, but it won't be another flashback occurrence.**


	11. Chapter 11

**So very sorry I haven't updated. I've been sick – like miss-class-even-though-I-hate-missing-class sick – and had lots of exams. But as I finished Fire of Unknown Origin and don't have any other WIPs right now, this will be updated more regularly. And for those of us in the U.S. and Canada…happy The Crimson Ticket Day!**

Later that night, after Jane and Teresa had been discovered on the ground near the body, after the men in the wagon train had come running, after Bertram had given a short speech on how the known serial killer and robber was probably, unbeknownst to the main wagon train, traveling among them to the Oregon Territory. "Or else it is someone pretending to be him, although I cannot think of a reason why someone would do that."

Neither, evidently, could Jane. He didn't say much during Bertram's impromptu meeting, and when it was over, he wandered, somewhat shakily, not walking in a completely straight line, to where his and Teresa's tent had been pitched, probably by Kimball or Wayne. Grace was sitting about fifty yards from her family's wagon, staring at the fire, Craig beside her. Teresa wasn't sure where her sons were, but she wasn't overly concerned. Red John Bandit was two weeks ahead of them. They were probably with Sarah and Summer, anyway.

Jane dropped down and crawled into the tent and Teresa followed him. "Jane," she said, looking at him as he curled into a ball on his side. "Jane, talk to me."

"He knows."

Teresa scooted closer to him and looked over his body to see his face. His eyes were closed. "He knows what?"

"He knows that I'm coming," Jane said quietly. "Why else would he have left that face?"

"Maybe he just…wanted to kill someone," she said. "Killers are like that."

"No." Jane rolled on his back and looked up at her. "No, he knows I'm coming. He has no reason to kill someone on that wagon train. Not unless he's sending me a message."

"You're thinking too hard," she said. "You just got your memories back, relax. Try and get some rest."

He sighed. "I can't rest. I can't rest until that monster is dead. Gutted. Like he gutted Angela and Charlotte." He shook his head. "We have to catch up."

"Catch up?" Teresa repeated his words as if she didn't understand.

"We have to catch up, take him by surprise, out him, right here on the Oregon Trail," Jane said.

"How do you know that's not what he is expecting you to do?" Teresa asked. "Maybe he wanted to anger you, wanted you to catch up."

"No, he wanted to defeat me," Jane said. He closed his eyes and let out a pained sigh.

"Jane…" She reached over and took his hands again. "Jane promise me you'll try to sleep. Just tonight. I'll stay right here, and in the morning we can discuss this. Just do this one thing for me."

The fires outside were being put out, she could no longer see him even slightly. But she heard him sigh and then felt a hand on her shoulder, tugging on the fabric of her dress. Getting the message, she laid down next to him and he tilted his head to the side to rest his forehead against hers. "Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

"Kimball Mashburn, you be careful!" Summer said, looking up as the young man balanced carefully on a tree branch, leaning over to attempt to fix the top of a rung on her grandfather's wagon.

"I am being careful," he said. "This needs to get fixed or your wagon cover will tear in half the next time we get a strong wind."

"You're so resourceful," she said flirtatiously, giving him a smile. "It's a very attractive trait to have."

He offered her a small smile. "Thanks." Leaning a bit farther, he tugged on the rung, and it snapped slightly back into place. "That should do it," he said. "It's not perfect, but it'll hold. Now-"

Summer screamed as the branch snapped and Kimball dropped to the ground. She thought she had screamed, anyway, maybe she'd just opened her mouth and nothing had come out. As no one came running, despite the Edgecomb wagon being toward the back of the train, she thought it might be the latter.

"Kimball!" she said, running the short distance to where he lay. "Kimball!" She dropped down next to him and reached out her hands, wanting to take him by the shoulders and shake him but unsure if that would cause him any pain. She thanked the full moon for allowing her to see his face.

His eyes opened, and she felt some of the terror leave her body. "Oh, Kimball," she said, leaning over and kissing him once, twice, three times, four.

"Summer," he said, putting a hand up to push her back. "Help me up, I've fallen."

"Are you okay?" she asked him. "Does anything hurt?"

Kimball got to a sitting position and Summer helped haul him to his feet. He winced slightly. "My back hurts." He put a hand behind him and bent slightly. "Aah."

"Here," Summer said, running to the front of her wagon. "Don't move." She crawled inside, stepped over her sleeping grandfather, and found his medicine chest. Pulling out a bottle, she exited the wagon. "Here, Kimball," she said, handing it to him. "Take a sip of this."

"What is it?"

Summer grinned playfully at him. "Take a sip."

Kimball looked at her for another moment, and then sighed, taking the bottle and tipping it up. A small amount of the heavy liquid reached his lips, burned his tongue, left a sweet taste in his mouth.

Summer smiled. "You'll feel better soon."

"What is this?" Kimball asked again.

"Chloro…something," Summer said. "It's not important what it's called. What's important is it tastes good and will help with the pain."

"Chloroform," Kimball said. He knew what chloroform was. And he also knew that his back was feeling better already. He nodded at the bottle as if to thank it, and handed it back to Summer. "I know where to go if I have pain, it looks like."

"Anything I can do for you, Kimball Masburn," Summer said, giving him a courtesy, "I will."


	12. Chapter 12

**And here is your next chapter! Anyone who hasn't signed up for The Mentalist Big Bang at Livejournal, you totally should! You can write anything from a 1K fic to as many words as you'd like! If you want to sign up, you can for another twelve days, just Google "The Mentalist Big Bang Livejournal" and you'll be led right there! I'm doing two pieces for the challenge, which will be up in a few months when our posting dates get here.**

**Once again, I own nothing at all.**

"Ma?" Grace walked over to where Teresa sat next to the wagon, fixing one of Jane's shirts. He, Kimball, and Wayne were out hunting, which meant that Jane was spewing off random facts and being generally distracting while his step sons did all the work. Grace had been, to the best of Teresa's knowledge, spending the morning with Craig, who didn't hunt, and another young couple, Peter and Amanda, both from Ohio. They were all nice enough people, and Teresa was glad to see her shy youngest child being so social.

"Grace," Teresa said, smiling at her daughter. "Is something going on?"

"No," Grace said, lowering herself to her knees in front of her mother. "Well, yes, but…" she looked at her hands on her knees and then back up at her mother. "Craig asked me to marry him, and I said yes. And then I wondered if I should talk to you first."

Teresa wasn't sure what to say. She looked at her daughter for several moments with her mouth slightly open. Finally, the words that escaped her lips were, "Grace, you're thirteen."

"Louisa's mother got married when she was thirteen," Grace said. "And Craig is not that much older than me." She smiled. "And it's not like he could whisk me off to Oregon and leave you and Papa Jane behind."

Teresa smiled at that. "Grace, you're an intelligent, strong young woman. If you love this young man I have no issue with your engagement. I do, however, ask that you consider waiting until Oregon to get married."

Grace cocked her head.

"We're a good five months from Oregon," Teresa said. "Marriage now could make the trail rather hard on you as winter comes. You'll have to decide if you'd like to risk motherhood while finishing this journey."

Her daughter nodded slowly. "I had not thought of it like that," she said. "But I see what you're saying. I will tell him that my answer is still yes, but that I would like to wait until winter." She smiled. "Thank you so much, Mama."

Teresa smiled when Grace moved closer and gave her a hug. "I love you," she whispered to her daughter putting a hand up to the girl's red hair.

* * *

"Kimball Mashburn," Summer said, skipping up to where he was walking alongside his mother and step father's oxen. "You know what I saw when we stopped at noon?"

Kimball looked over at the energetic girl. "No."

She sidled closer to him and leaned over to whisper in his ear, no easy feat while they were both moving. "Your baby brother and his girlfriend."

"What about them?" Kimball asked, glancing behind him at his mother and stepfather. She appeared to be telling him about Grace's engagement. They'd be too preoccupied with that for them to notice that he was gossiping with Summer.

"They were, ahem," Summer said, wiggling her eyebrows. Kimball's eyebrows went up a fraction. "I know," she said, giggling. "Scandalous, right?"

"Stupid is what it is," Kimball said.

"Oh Kimball," Summer said, linking her arm with his spare one. "You're cute when you're being level headed."

* * *

"Boys!"

Teresa had been in the wagon, getting her and Jane's tent for the night, when she had heard the shouting. Moving to the front of the wagon, she saw her sons rolling in the dirt, fists flying and loud, angry words being exchanged.

She jumped down off the wagon, her skirts flying up and not caring about how inappropriate that was – it was getting dark anyway – and ran over to Kimball and Wayne. Grabbing her younger son by the shoulders, she hauled him away from his brother.

"You need to mind your own business!" Wayne shouted at his brother.

"You need to be more careful!" Kimball shouted back. "You need…"

"Stop it!" Teresa snapped. "Both of you!" She stood between her sons and held out her hands, keeping them apart. "I don't know what you're arguing about, but it's childish and you need to cut it out. You understand me?"

"He-!" Both of her sons started.

"Enough!" she said. "Or God help me I'll take my gun and shoot the hair off your heads." She gave them both a warning look.

"Yes, ma'am," Wayne said, at the same time Kimball said, "understood, mother."

Giving them a nod, Teresa headed back to the wagon, looking back once to see Wayne fixing his shirt and Kimball, a hand on his back, walk off toward the Edgecombe wagon.

"What was that all about?" Jane asked. While she was breaking up the fight, he'd grabbed their tent and was setting it up near the wagon. "Boys will be boys, huh?"

"I have no idea what it was about," she said. "I guess being out on the trail means they're trying harder to prove themselves as tough."

"They're both tough," Jane said. "They know that." He looked down at the tent. "So I hear Mrs. Hightower offered to make Grace a dress, once we're in Oregon."

"She did," Teresa said. "It was nice of her."

"Is she going to take her up on it?"

"I don't know. It'll depend on if I still have mine by the time we get there, I think. If we have to lighten the load too much, then she'll definitely not have any other option."

"Yeah," Jane said, smiling. "And your dress was absolutely lovely."

She blushed. "So you've told me."

He smiled fondly at her, and then his eyes shifted to look past her, over her shoulder. "What do you suppose that is?" He asked, looking toward one of the wagons about twenty yards ahead. It appeared to be glowing.

"That's…" _odd_ was going to be the next word out of Teresa's mouth, but before she could verbalize it, the aforementioned wagon suddenly burst into flame. Instead, she dropped a couple of inches, raised her head slightly, and belted out "_fire!_"

She, Jane, Wayne, and others rushed toward the inflamed wagon. A small dog leaped out the front, smoke coming from its tail, and ran off toward the brush. Then someone _oh Lord, someone_, fell from the blaze, fire igniting the form in its entirety.

Bertram and Luther appeared from opposite sides, grabbing the burning body and running a few yards to pull it farther from the wagon before laying it down again. The man was screaming and Lisbon turned toward Jane letting him hug her face to his chest so she wouldn't have to see. Under less violent circumstances, she would have been amused at feeling his nose pushed into her hair, letting her know that he was holding her because he was her husband and he was supposed to, but he didn't want to see any more than she did.

"Easy, easy!" Bertram shouted as Madeline and Craig appeared. "Who is this?" He asked of the crowd. "Who is this?"

"Todd Johnson," said Minelli. Teresa looked up, surprised to see him. He usually remained farther back with his cattle. "The chemist from Philadelphia. I know that's his wagon because last time he was at the back of the train he almost scattered my cattle."

"Johnson," Bertram demanded. "Johnson, can you hear me?"

Johnson had stopped moving, but those that gathered could tell that he was still alive because of the loud, labored breathing. A hand weakly lifted from the ground and gestured, and Bertram dropped down near him to hear what he had to say.

Teresa felt her husband let go of her just as the words of the dying man became audible. "Red…John…" She turned, her eyes wide, toward Johnson as Jane walked the few paces to the charred man and fell down next to him. Madeline, Luther, Craig, and Peter, who had just joined the group, moved closer as well, intrigued.

Johnson's eyes fell on the group of younger people, and then looked to where Jane and Bertram knelt. "C…" he struggled. "C-Carbon monoxide." And his eyes closed.

The labored breathing stopped.


	13. Chapter 13

**Yes, a rather quick update, I know! I'm going to have a very busy weekend, so I have to supply y'all with some Blood Trail before that weekend happens. And for those of us in the U.S. and Canada, just a few short days until Devil's Cherry!**

Luther, Minelli, and Peter went to bury the body, lifting the charred remains from the still too warm spot on the ground and carrying it out of the wagon circle. Amanda, Grace, Summer, and a few other young women tended the minor burns of Madeline, Craig, Dumar, and Tobias, who were near the wagon when it exploded. Bertram stood near them, looking suspiciously at the injured pioneers.

"Does he think that one of them did it?" Teresa asked, cocking her head.

Jane shook his head slowly. "I don't know…though it would have to be someone who was near the wagon."

"Madeline?" Teresa said, raising an eyebrow.

As if in answer to her question Bertram addressed his servant. "Didn't you tell me that Johnson threatened your girl, Maddie?" he asked.

"He did," Madeline said, smiling at Amanda as the girl quietly finished wrapping her hand. "He told me that he thought Mimi shouldn't be on the trail without a father or a husband and he was fixing to make himself the latter."

"She's a child," Grace said, a hand on Craig's. Teresa raised an eyebrow a fraction. Being engaged was definitely making her daughter feel grown up.

Madeline's eyes flashed. "I know."

"You were probably angry enough to…say…" Bertram folded his arms. "…let his wagon go up in flames?"

Madeline folded her arms in the same way. "Hardly."

"Well, I certainly didn't do it," Dumar said, spitting into the dirt.

"Craig didn't do it, that's for sure," Grace said, clinging to his arm.

"You've got to be kidding me," Tobias said. "Me or her? I'm thirty years old and been a law abiding citizen all my life. I didn't set fire to nobody."

"I've never broken a law either," Madeline said. "I was angry at Johnson, it don't mean I killed him. He was prowling around asking if anyone of us knows about Red John. Maybe someone does, and they killed him to keep him quiet."

"Did you know about that?" Teresa asked Jane.

"I might have been the one to give him the idea."

"Jane!" She hissed. "You can't send people to do your bidding like that."

"Oh please," Jane said. He looked around, then took his wife's wrist and led her away from the group. "The man didn't look shocked when we found that body, clearly he knew about it, but he was uncomfortable enough when discussing it the next day that while he knows Red John Bandit, he isn't very high up in his circle of friends. But there is another friend in this group, one that _is_. I simply made him a bit paranoid, so he'd go looking around. And now he has."

"And now he's dead," Teresa said.

"Let's not play cop, Teresa," Jane said.

"He's dead and Madeline is being blamed for it," Teresa snapped. "They'll hang her high come noon tomorrow if we don't figure out who is actually doing this. And I know you're fine with catching Red John and his friends at any point down the road, but Madeline needs us _now._"

"Carbon Monoxide," Jane repeated.

"What?"

"Carbon Monoxide," Jane said again. "That's what Johnson said right before he died."

"He's a chemist," Teresa said. "Chemists…like that stuff."

"Or it's a clue," he said. "A clue as to who killed him."

Before going to their tent for the night, Teresa made sure that each of her children had a gun. "Hang tight to these," she said. "If anyone crawls in here in the night that isn't me or Jane, shoot them. I don't care who it is. Understood?"

"Yes," the boys chorused. Grace, sleeping in her brothers' tent that night for safety, took her own gun quietly and nodded.

Teresa crawled into the tent and laid down near her husband. "This is more dangerous than I thought it would be," she said. "And we're not even at the bad part of the trail yet."

"No, we're not," Jane said quietly.

Teresa put a hand to her forehead and sighed. "I know Madeline didn't do it. She would kill for her children, but she wouldn't set someone on fire. She'd guard her children like a bear and when someone came near them, she'd shoot them. Or stab them. She wouldn't light them on fire while they slept." She tilted her head. "Would you agree?"

"Oh yes," Jane said. "She's not that type."

"God, Jane," she said, her voice sounding almost pained. "That 'trial' that they say they're giving her in the morning…it's just a formality. They'll string her up from that tree before breakfast is over. And there's nothing we can do."

They lay in silence for a while. Teresa stared up at the darkness. Between her husband forgetting her, the brutal confirmation that Red John was indeed ahead of them on the trail, the realization that Red John had friends following him in this train, and the stress of her friend's almost certain death, and the overall wear on her body and mind from the trail itself, her stress levels had been high recently. Her mind hadn't stopped racing in nearly a week, and it was exhausting her, but not in a way that she could sleep.

"Jane?"

"Mmmm?"

"Are you going to sleep tonight?"

"Hmm," he said, giving a short laugh. "Not likely."

Her hand moved from her stomach to hit the back of it against his shoulder. "Then get over here and distract me."

He was still for a moment or two, and then she heard him exhale and roll on his side, scooting closer to her. He leaned over, put an arm on either side of her, and kissed her on the mouth. "Just after giving Grace the speech on being careful on the journey?" he whispered, sounding somewhat amused.

"The danger is much greater for Grace," Teresa said.

* * *

As Teresa predicted, people began to gather for Madeline Hightower's 'trial' before sunup. Teresa went to him and asked if she and Grace could take Hightower to the small river running a quarter mile south of their camp so she could wash up. After a moment's hesitation, he agreed. Craig opted to go with them, saying that if Hightower was a murderer, he did not want his girlfriend and her mother alone with her.

Teresa's belief that Madeline was innocent was shared by some of the people in the camp, though none seemed thrilled about placing the blame on any of the other suspects. Jane sat near the oxen, Teresa's sons near him, thinking about what Johnson had said. _Carbon Monoxide._ It had to be a clue. Jane was not familiar with chemistry, but he know that Carbon Monoxide was made with Carbon and Oxygen, and that it was discovered nearly fifty years earlier. None of the suspects were near fifty, and Hightower was probably the nearest to that anyway.

Kimball noticed Summer walking around near her grandfather's wagon and got up, a hand on his back, and walked toward her. Wayne was aimlessly drawing in the sand, a wagon with an oddly shaped ox in the front. He labled it "WM".

WM

W.M.

Wayne Mashburn.

Jane jumped to his feet, fear finding him and consuming him in a split second. He ran for the opening in the wagon train, Wayne on his heels shouting what was wrong.

"Patrick Jane!" Minelli scolded when two of his cows spooked at the running man. "What in the devil is wrong with you?"

"The words," he said, his voice not sounding like himself, "Johnson said 'Carbon Monoxide.' C.O. C.O is the abbreviation," he panted. "Johnson was telling us who murdered him. C.O. Craig O'Laughlin. He couldn't say it because O'Laughlin was there. Madeline Hightower didn't murder him." Jane looked south, where, out of sight, his wife and his step daughter, as well as another innocent woman, were alone with the man who had set Johnson on fire. He stumbled forward, gaining momentum and picking up the pace. "It was Craig O'Laughlin." He looked behind him; Wayne was hot on his heels and Minelli was making a break for Bertram's wagon. "_Craig O'Laughlin!"_

**So as you can see, this is a storyline on the show that can't go down the same way that it did in canon, being one hundred and sixty years earlier. But I'm making it as close as I can while still laying groundwork for the future chapters.**

**Hope you enjoyed it, and as usual, I love reviews!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Here's the next chapter, sorry for the wait. I had a really busy week, school, the horses, and fangirling over Devil's Cherry because perfect episode is perfect.**

**Once more, I don't own a dang thing.**

Patrick Jane was about halfway to the river when he heard the shot. With the bang, his heart shot from its normal place to his throat. He swallowed with difficulty as he continued to run, not bothering to take the time to look behind him to see if anyone else was coming. Then he heard another shot, then a third, and then a fourth. And then there were screams. They sounded like Grace.

There was no use in trying to conceal his approach any more. With that amount of fire, it was clear that something was happening. Jane sucked in a deep breath. "_Teresa!_"

Coming over the rise, he came to a halt, his mouth falling open as he took in the scene.

Craig O'Laughlin lay with the top half of his body in the river; his head submerged. Three large splotches of blood stained the front of his shirt. Grace knelt next to him, a gun in her hand, tears streaming down her face.

The blood drained from Jane's face when he saw his wife on the ground, looking as if she'd been lying on her side and was now propped up on her left hand. Her right arm was bent at the elbow and against her body like a robin with a broken wing, and her right shoulder was as bloodstained as Craig's chest and stomach.

Madeline Hightower was kneeling next to her, a hand on Teresa's back and the other hand holding a brown rag to the woman's wound. As Jane got closer, he noticed that the brown rag was a piece of the servant's dress.

"Teresa," he said, jogging the last few steps and falling down next to her. "Teresa, are you all right?"

She coughed and winced. "O'Laughlin," she said. "He tried to shoot us. He killed Johnson. He shot me, Grace killed him. O'Laughlin's dead."

"I know, I know," he said. Hightower stood and backed away, moving to Grace and dropping down on the other side of O'Laughlin's body. Now that she had moved, Jane shifted his position so he was on his wife's left side. "How bad is it?"

"The bullet's still in there, she said, leaning against him so she could reposition. "Madeline helped to stop the bleeding." She coughed again.

She was both shorter, thinner, and paler than her husband, but now she felt ridiculously tiny slumped against him, and that scared Jane more than he thought was possible. He hesitantly put an arm around her. "You're going to be okay," he told her, feeling the sun, now fully over the horizon, begin to beat down on them. It was going to be a hot day.

Meaning if his wife lived, she was going to be completely miserable.

He felt Teresa's body tense up, and then she pushed herself away from him, leaned forward, and vomited onto the dirt, her right arm still awkwardly against her body. She remained hunched over, breathing heavily, and then, groaning, straightened up and leaned backward against Jane.

"Ma!"

Jane looked up and saw Kimball, Wayne, Pete, Minelli, and Bertram running toward them, Wayne leading the pack. He reached his mother and hunkered down in front of her. "Oh God, Ma…"

"I'm all right," she said. "Check on your sister."

"Teresa Jane," Minelli said, reaching them and bending over to look at her. "Have you been shot?"

"Of course she's been shot," Jane snapped.

"Yes," Teresa said, ignoring her husband. "O'Laughlin's dead."

"Okay," Minelli said. "It looks like the bullet's still in there." He looked at Jane. "We have to remove it."

Teresa felt even smaller now. Jane put a hand on the top of her head to reassure himself that she was still there. "Do it," he said. "Do whatever you have to do."

"It is a risky procedure," Bertram started.

"Dammit, Gale," Jane said. "Don't you think I know it's dangerous? But she'll die otherwise, so do it, and do it now."

"Does anyone have any tweezers?" Bertram asked.

"I do."

The voice made everyone look at the speaker, rising from her dead fiancé's body and coming to her mother's side. She fished a pair of tweezers out of her pocket with a shaky hand and handed them to Bertram.

"I can do it," Minelli said. "Hand them to me."

"What about painkillers?" Wayne asked. "You can't just stick that into her shoulder."

"She doesn't need painkillers," Jane said. He tilted his head down to see his wife. "Teresa?" he asked. "Teresa?"

He knew she was still alive, he could feel her labored breathing, but he couldn't see her face. He felt her body tense up just before she spoke. "Do it. Do it."

"You going to be able to handle this?" Bertram asked.

She gave a weak nod. "I had four babies."

Four babies. Jane closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. "Do it, then," he said to Minelli.

He looked down at his wife. There weren't any painkillers available, but he wasn't lying to Wayne when he said that she didn't need them. He could help. "Good, good," he began, talking in a low voice. "Now I want you to listen to the sound of my voice. Okay? Listen to the sound of my voice. One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight. You're at home, you're in our bedroom, you're under the covers, ninety four, ninety three, it's a cold day, but the blankets are keeping you nice and warm, eighty nine, the birds are singing, eighty seven, there's that nice smoky smell from the neighbor's house, eighty four. You're happy and you're relaxed. You're rested. The birds. The covers." He nodded to Minelli and continued counting down, trying to come up with as many peaceful memories as possible. Strawberries, the smell of straw and autumn leaves, crisp, clear air. It was working; he felt his wife tense up again when Minelli began searching for the bullet, her breathing wasn't entirely regular, but she was calm and, for the most part, quiet. After what seemed like ages, Minelli shifted his weight backward, the bullet lodged between the tweezers.

* * *

"Ma, you can't travel," Wayne protested the next morning.

"I'm not walking, I'm not driving the wagon," she told him. "We have to keep moving or we'll be stranded in the mountains for the river."

She was lying in the front of the wagon, between the chest she'd brought from her parents' house and some sacks of flowers. The wagon would jostle a bit, but she would be relatively stable. And she'd have to deal with it.

"I'm going to ride with Summer today," Kimball told her, taking his mother's hand and squeezing it. "Her grandfather isn't feeling well in the heat. If you need anything…"

"You go," she said, smiling up at her oldest. "I'll be okay. Where's Grace?"

"She's walking with Pete and Amanda," Wayne said. "They said they can keep her mind occupied. I'm going to be leading Erica and Kristina today, while Father Jane drives."

She nodded. "Okay." She looked at her songs. "You're good boys."

Wayne and Kimball looked at each other. "Thanks, Ma," Kimball said. They both climbed out of the wagon.

Jane jumped up onto the driver's seat, rocking the wagon slightly. Teresa winced. Her shoulder hurt like Hell, but so far there was no fever. As long as there was no fever, she would be okay, she kept repeating in her head. As long as there was no fever.

"Mrs. Jane," her husband said looking down at her. "You're looking absolutely beautiful today."

She shook her head. "Stop it. I'm an invalid." She shifted her weight. "Did you make sure the harnesses are on right? She pushed herself up on her hands and looked over her shoulder toward the oxen.

"Hey," Jane warned. "You're on bed rest." He smiled down at her. "Look, you took care of me when my mind was gone. Let me take care of you this time, okay?"

No one had ever taken care of Teresa Lisbon Mashburn Jane in her entire life. She hated that that had to start now. But she wouldn't be helping her husband catch Red John Bandit if she got a fever and died before reaching Oregon. So she nodded. "I suppose I'll let you. Just this once."

"Good." He looked ahead. "We're moving out," he told her. If the pain gets bad, tell me. We'll slow down."

"Don't slow down," she said. "I can deal with it. This wagon train is going far too slowly. Don't let us fall behind."


	15. Chapter 15

**So this chapter is actually setting up three or four storylines that will happen at varying points in the fic. Some will be more obvious than others what they're leading toward, however. In addition, there are still at least a half dozen major canon events that will appear in this fic. I hope you're all enjoying it so far, and I hope you continue to!**

Grace appreciated Pete and Amanda's offer to let her walk with them, but as the day went on, she felt more and more like a third wheel. Not because the young couple was leaving her out of conversation – though they weren't trying quite as hard now as they had been in the morning – but because she really couldn't bring herself to care about anything that they were saying. She felt like her body wasn't her own, her eyes blinking at a predetermined pace, her legs moving as if someone else was controlling them. Somehow she kept going forward. Forward, away from the bloody riverbank that was forever stained with the dying blood of her fiancé and the blood of her mother. She took a small comfort in knowing that she would never return to that place.

Pete and Amanda had stopped trying to get her to talk; instead they flanked out to either side of her and hand a hand on her elbows, guiding her forward as if they were afraid that she would stop. She was listening to their voices, sure, but she couldn't for the life of her retain what they were saying. Her day blurred together until she heard the screams. Then, she turned as if one with Pete and Amanda and they raced toward the source of the sounds.

* * *

Teresa jumped, moaning as her shoulder reminded her of why she was lying inside the cramped wagon. The shrieks she heard didn't sound like Grace, but they did appear to be familiar; she was sure that she knew whoever was in such a state. "Jane," she called out.

The wagon was already slowing, it came to a stop and he stood. "I'm on it," he said, looking down at her briefly before jumping from the seat. When he returned, his face was grave.

"Rafe Edgecombe has died," he said, kneeling on the seat and looking down at his wife. "Summer is in hysterics. Kimball is with her. So are Grace and Amanda."

"Oh my God," Teresa said. "What happened?"

Jane shrugged. "I don't know. He wasn't feeling well, and when she jumped in the wagon to check on him just now…" he shook his head.

"That's terrible," she said. "Is she going to leave the wagon behind?"

"Your son has offered to drive it for her," he said. "You should be proud of him. He's a good man."

She smiled. "I know."

Jane nodded slowly. "A few folks are staying back to help bury him. The rest of us are pushing on. Wainwright and Dumar are staying back with the Edgecomb wagons. Madeline and her children are staying, too. You know how Madeline is with people who need help."

"She's a real sweetheart," Teresa said, nodding.

Jane smiled. "Bertram wants us moving out again. Love you." He leaned over and kissed her on her forehead, and then turned around and settled back on the wagon seat.

* * *

Summer was still crying long after Kimball. Luther, and Dumar had put the last handful of dirt over the body. "Six feet down," Kimball said reassuringly, sitting down next to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. "And tomorrow we'll run the wagons over it before moving out. So the Indians don't know."

She nodded, wiping tears off of her cheeks and looking toward where Dumar, gun at his side, was sleeping at the foot of the miniature prairie schooner that Bertram had secured in Independence for the Hightowers. Madeline had been over later, before it began to get dark, but Summer had sent her away. "I'm not ready to talk to anyone," she had told the servant. "But thank you."

"How's your back?" she said now, standing and reaching into the wagon for the bottle of chloroform.

"It's okay," Kimball said. In reality, it hurt more than a little from digging the hole, but it wasn't time for Summer to pity him.

However, she'd spent enough time with him to know when he was lying. She dropped down next to him and handed him the bottle, which he gratefully took. "You should probably get some sleep," he told her, setting the bottle down.

"I don't wanna sleep," she said, pushing on the ground with her pointer fingers. "I want to stop feeling so empty and bad."

"Hey," Kimball said, putting a hand on the back of her neck. She turned to look at him and he kissed her. "You're not alone. Okay?"

She responded by glancing over at the sleeping Dumar, and then looking back at Kimball, pushing him over and kissing him while she shifted her weight so she was on top of him.

He responded by pushing himself up with one arm and using the other to knock her off of him, displacing her to on her back beside him in less than a second. "What the Hell?" he demanded, jumping to his feet.

"I'm sorry!" Summer said, still on the ground, looking hurt. "Don't be mad!"

"I'm not-!" Kimball checked himself, realizing that he w_as_ mad. Not completely at Summer, though. Not in the way that she thought. He hunkered down. "I'm not mad at you," he said. "But we can't."

She pouted. "Why not?"

"For the same reason that Grace wasn't getting married until Oregon," Kimball said. "I'm not going to be a fool like my brother. He's laying his girl like a strong wind will do to a corn field, and if she's not pregnant by now, she sure as Hell will be before we get to Oregon. That's not going to be you."

She cocked her head, pressed her lips together, and raised her eyebrows slightly. "You don't want to marry me?"

"You're awfully forward," Kimball said. He shifted out of the hunker to sit in front of her. "Look, I love you, alright? We're in the middle of nowhere and you just lost your grandfather. I'm not saying this isn't right. I'm saying it isn't the right time."

She looked at him for a long moment and then sighed. "I suppose I understand."

He smiled. "Good."

She cocked her head and repeated her pouty look. "Will you hold me while I sleep, though?"

He nodded. "Of course."

* * *

"Jane, you don't have to do this every night."

"Yes, I do," he said, taking another sack of flour out of the wagon and replacing it underneath. "You're injured and you spend all day alone in this stifling hot schooner. You're not going to spend your nights all by yourself, that's absurd."

Teresa smiled. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous," Jane said, taking the final sack out and crawling into the wagon. "Kimball's the one with the bad back."

"What?"

"How's the arm?" he asked her.

"It hurts."

"I'd bet." He leaned over her and felt her bandage. "Dry," he said. "That's good. The bleeding has stopped."

"Yeah," she said. "It's looking good, so far. The bullet wasn't lodged too deeply. I'll be back to normal in a few weeks."

"Yes, yes you will," he said, lying down next to her. "You'll be right as rain."

"Just you don't go and get yourself hurt once I'm well," she said teasingly. "If you plan to push forward and get ahead of the train, both of us are going to have to be at our full potential."

"Look at you, lying here with a gunshot wound and thinking about how we can find Red John Bandit," Jane said fondly. She heard him shift his weight and then felt his lips on hers, giving her a long, deep kiss. When he pulled back, he whispered to her. "There's no one else in the world that would give so much to me, Mrs. Jane." He took her hand. "But now I need to return the favor. Don't worry about pushing forward. Just worry about that shoulder healing, I'll do my best to not get hurt, and in terms of getting ahead, we'll cross that river when we come to it."

Teresa smiled in the dark, closing her eyes and feeling herself drift off to sleep. Her shoulder wasn't currently hurting – or she was just used to it by now – but she still couldn't feel completely content.

Jane had stayed at her side during her miscarriage. He'd done his best to make sure she didn't feel like a guilty failure to have a baby whenever they made love. He'd always made sure she had comfortable clothes and enough food. He'd held her through the bullet extraction, and now he was loading and unloading their wagon every day to make sure that she wasn't sleeping alone.

And yet somehow, when he implied that in doing all of that, he was being as good a husband to her as she was a wife to him, it just didn't feel like the truth.

**Reviews are a writer's best friend. ; )**


	16. Chapter 16

**So here is the new chapter! Again, terribly sorry for the gap between updates, school is making me it's bitch and I need to turn the tables on that. Had a little time to write today, so I figured it'd be nicer to update this rather than work on my TMBB fics that won't be published for a few months.**

**It's quite difficult to always remember to use first names, especially since I absolutely hate reading things where people solely refer to the characters by their first names because on the show, they aren't known that way. So to only have Jane using a surname here…it requires a lot of proof reading to make sure I haven't messed it up!**

Teresa lost track of the days. Spending all of her time in the wagon, trying to stay comfortable and switching positions every once in a while. She was able to sit up now, but the fact was that a gaping hole in her shoulder had turned into a slightly less gaping, starting – to – heal – but – was – still – there hole. She wasn't sure she'd ever regain full use of the arm. At least she did most things with her right hand.

She knew that a couple of other people had fallen sick, and probably some of them had died. She had a few come visit her to wish her well, but they didn't seem to want to bother her with sad news, and Jane wasn't being the best delivery boy when it came to what was going on; the wagon train was moving slower than he'd have liked due to the extreme heat and the illnesses and that was distressing him. Teresa selfishly was glad of the slower pace; it was less jostling in the wagon and less painful for her shoulder, but the heat was nearly insufferable and the wagon made it worse. She was constantly sweating and longed for more water than she could have, and she spent most of the day praying that the night would come. Then it was cooler, she could have more water if they stopped near a source, and her husband would unload enough of their stuff to crawl in the wagon next to her.

She craved him being there. So far away from home and the graves of their loved ones, her sons driving other wagons and being unable to spend time with her because of it, and after nearly dying and being restricted to the tiny prairie schooner while she healed, she had come to need to have Jane with her to the point where she didn't tell him it wasn't necessary to do the extra work required to sleep next to her. The trail was wearing on her and she figured she could have this one little thing, especially since he was doing it of his own volition.

"How are you feeling tonight?" Jane asked her quietly once he was settled in the tiny space.

"I'm feeling a lot better," she said. "How is everyone doing? How is Grace?"

"She's been at Amanda's wagon with Pete," her husband answered. "Amanda's folks are both sick."

"Oh no," she said quietly. "How many have died?"

"Four or five," Jane said. "You just thank that god of yours that it isn't Cholera. That would wipe half of us out," he snapped his fingers, "like that."

"Jane," Teresa said, "can you drive one of the wagons tomorrow? One of the ones my boys are driving? I want to see one of them."

She couldn't see him in the dark, but she felt a hand rest on her side. "Sure," he said. "I'm sure Kimball would like a bit of a break from Summer Edgecombe."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Teresa asked.

"She is quite lively," Jane said. "She's got spunk."

"And my solemn boy is drawn to her," Teresa said, shaking her head in wonder. "I wish I knew her better."

"You will," Jane said. "There's plenty of time for that once you feel better."

"I am feeling better," she reminded him. "I'd like to get out of the wagon tomorrow."

"You are nowhere near ready to walk beside the wagon," Jane said. "Or even sit on the seat."

"I'm near enough to sitting on the seat," she said. "And I don't mean walking. I mean in the evening. When we're circled up. Let me get out of this wagon and sit on a blanket by the fire."

"We can do that," he whispered, running his hand along her side from shoulder to hip and back again. "We can most definitely do that, if that's what you'd like."

"Yes," she said. "I need to be around people again. And this wagon is driving me crazy."

* * *

"Kimball," Teresa said fondly, smiling from where she sat near the front of the wagon.

Her son crawled over the seat to kiss his mother's cheek. "It is good to see you looking well, Mother," he said, giving her a rare smile as he picked up the oxen's reins and prepared to move out with the rest of the train.

"Is your father all settled to help Miss Edgecombe for the day?" She asked. "I know they have six oxen to our four."

"Don't you worry, Mother," Kimball said. "Your husband is fine. Summer is down to four oxen anyway. One had a heart attack yesterday, and a stupid boy who shouldn't have had a gun shot another through the head by accident the day after we caught up with the wagon train."

"Oh no," she said. "Was his gun taken away?"

"Mrs. Hightower pulled it from his hands and told him that he could have killed any one of them. Then she unloaded it, dropped it on the ground, and stomped on it. Her children helped her. They busted it up. Bertram wasn't very happy that they destroyed a firearm until little William explained what the boy had done. Now his mother has him tied on a leash to the wagon; he can only get about fifteen feet from it. Summer is very amused by that."

"I would be, too," Teresa said, nodding and picturing it. "You wouldn't happen to know what day it is, would you?"

"No," her oldest son told her. "Sorry. Your accident was a couple of weeks ago, but I hadn't even been able to keep track of the days before then. If I knew, it was because you told me."

"Oh," Teresa said, wondering if she should embrace this unknown as part of the adventure. It's not like she could do anything about it anyway. "So," she said, "How's Summer?"

Her son turned to look at her and gave a small smile. "Lively."

"So I've heard."

"She misses her grandfather, but he was very much a man who thought she should be ladylike, and ladylike is what Summer wants to do on her own terms. She can be quite polite and conventional, but she likes to be her own person." He turned to smile back at her again. "She reminds me of you in that sense. But you're much more mature and grounded."

"I should hope so," she said. "I have two babies older than her."

* * *

Mother and son talked less as the sun rose higher and the temperature rose with it. Teresa shifted her weight, trying to get comfortable, and noting with happiness that her shoulder wasn't as stiff when she moved it. She'd get out of the wagon soon. Then she could rejoin her husband in their primary quest – catching the murderer of his family.

It was around noon when Teresa was jolted out of her thoughts by the sound of thundering hooves and various human sounds, the angry shouting of men and the terrified shrieks of women. Forgetting herself, Teresa leaned forward, trying to see, at the same time that the oxen spooked and lurched forward for a step before Kimball got them back under control. The intentional weight shift combined with the unexpected movement from the animals made the injured woman jolt forward and then back with the wagon's movement; her eyes widened and mouth fell open when the rapid movement sent a shooting pain through her shoulder. Sitting back slowly, praying she hadn't just caused herself horrific damage, she watched as her son hauled, their oxen to a stop and jump off the seat.

The shouting continued. Teresa stared up at the top of the wagon, panting, trying to catch her breath as the pain in her shoulder slowly receded to near what it was prior to the incident. Then, keeping her right side as stable as possible, she crawled forward and looked out of the wagon.

**I'll try to update again by the end of the weekend, I should have some time in the evenings. :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Again-sorry for the late update. School again, that darned school. And I have a busy weekend, so unless I update tonight or tomorrow, chapter eighteen won't be up for a week or so. I apologize in advance.**

"Kimball!" Teresa shouted after her son, "help me out of this wagon!"

Kimball had apparently run too far to hear, but Minelli appeared, and he scooped her up like she was nothing and set her on her feet next to the wagon. Thanking him, she wobbled, finding her balance, and then was able to survey the scene.

The wagons were scattered, some off to the far right of the normal train and some crookedly trying to get back on track from the left side. Minelli's cattle had run a good quarter mile ahead and were wandering about with wide eyes.

"Your cattle…" she said, turning to the older man. He gave a brisk, angry nod.

Her eyes were drawn to the wagon that had caused the ruckus, and she groaned internally. Her husband was standing next to the seat, almost completely surrounded by angry, shouting men and women.

"Hey!" Teresa said, marching toward them, her injured arm against her like it had been when she'd first been shot. She couldn't risk opening the wound. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you what's going on," said Dumar. "Your crazy husband near got some children killed because he doesn't know how to drive cattle."

"Hey-" Jane started.

"You shut your mouth," Minelli said. "You know how many people could have been run through by the horns on my cattle? And you know how long it's going to take me to round them up?"

"I'm sure it was an honest mistake…" Teresa said.

"You don't know anything, Lady," snapped Sarah's father. "He could have killed us."

"How you expect a man of my height and weight to control four oxen if they all simultaneously decide to _run_," Jane started. "They probably saw the Indians over the ridge."

"Indians?"

The women of the group looked around nervously.

"Relax," Jane said. "If they wanted to hurt us, they would have already. They've been watching us for days."

"_What_?"

"And you didn't tell us?"

"Jane," Teresa said, walking toward him. The group parted so she could reach her husband, not out of willingness to let Jane go, but with respect for her injury, and she grabbed his sleeve with her good arm. "Come on, let's go."

"Go where?" Summer asked. Teresa hadn't even noticed the girl and Kimball standing near the wagon. "He has to drive for me."

"I'm driving for you again," Kimball said. "I'll finish teaching you how to drive the wagon."

A grin came over her face. "Oh, yay!"

"Jane," Teresa said again. "Come on."

"You're not going anywhere," Minelli said. "You're going to help me round up my cattle, dammit."

"If he can't even control strange oxen," Teresa said, "how do you expect him to round up cattle?"

Minelli let it go, and Teresa led Jane back to the wagon. By the time they reached it, she was dizzy, she hadn't walked – or shouted – in weeks, and was relieved when Jane picked her up and hoisted her as gently as possible back into the wagon. She pulled herself into a sitting position to look at him. "What happened?" she hissed.

"Nothing," Jane replied, not looking at her.

"Sheep dip," she snapped.

"I was…I was calculating. How long we've been gone, how far we have to go…if Red John bandit knows I'm coming, then we have to get there as quickly as possible. The more time he has to prepare…"

"Jane, we've been talking about speeding up since we left the post," Teresa said. "But something always happens. You lose your memory, I get hurt, the children get scattered about the party driving other wagons and trying to get their minds off of dead fiancés…" she shook her head. "It's not going to happen."

"It will if we actually do it," he said.

"What?"

Jane jumped up on the wagon seat, his face inches from hers. "If we actually do it. You're feeling better, they're all angry with me…let's do it. Let's get ahead of the train."

His tone, the look in his eyes, and weeks of pent up frustration over her ability to do _nothing_ all had a factor in her answer. "Yes."

His lips hinted at a smile. "You're on board?"

She nodded. "Let's do it. Let's surprise him."

* * *

Y'all are crazy," Bertram said. "I made this journey before, and I can tell you, the trail we're on now is nothing compared to what's to come. We got nasty rivers to cross and mountains to clear, and moving too fast depletes the oxen's energy and tires out the people, too. Better to stay with us. We'll get you to Oregon."

"I'm sorry," Jane said. "I have no doubt in your ability to get everyone there. Aside from the poor folks who have already gone to the eternity box. But your leadership doesn't fit my agenda and I aim to meet it."

"Mama," Grace said, coming up to Teresa and looking her in the eye, seeming desperate. "Don't do this. It's dangerous."

"Yeah," Wayne said, putting an arm around his sister. "Indians, buffalo stampedes…rivers…"

Kimball looked at the both of them, and then back to his parents. "We don't know what's out there."

"I know what's out there," Bertram said. "Just what your boy says. Indians, buffalo, rivers…mountains, snakes…" he shook his head. "All sorts of death traps that you Eastern folk know nothing about."

"If we die," Jane said, "it won't be on you. This is our own decision. I aim to get to Oregon as quickly as possible and I can do it faster than this train can move, what with these pregnant women and babies around." He turned around and jumped up onto the wagon seat. "I'm going an extra two miles tonight. And I'm starting early tomorrow. That's final."

Teresa looked at her children, who seemed uncertain. "I know you guys feel comfortable here," she said. "So do I. But he wants to keep moving, and I can't let him go alone. But I am in no way trying to get you guys to push ahead when you have friends here. I won't deny this is the safer option." She looked Kimball in the eye, then Wayne, and then Grace. "I'm going to do this, but if any of you do not want to take part, that is totally okay."

There was a pause. Kimball looked over at the Edgecomb wagon, then back to his mother. "I'm in. Just let me talk to Summer."

"Yeah," Wayne said, nodding. "I need to see Sarah."

Grace gave a small smile. "I'm not leaving anyone behind, so yeah, me too."

"Aw, Grace," Teresa said, stepping forward and giving her daughter a hug. "It's going to be okay. This is an adventure."

She felt her daughter sigh. "Yeah," Grace said. "An adventure."

Kimball and Wayne returned from the other wagons and Kimball took his previous place at the oxen's side. Wayne got on the other side, and Teresa and Grace fell into place walking next to the wagon as it moved forward. Teresa was so busy looking at her husband's face, seeing the determination there, and the joy that they were finally pushing forward, that she didn't notice her three children, looking as solemn as they had since they'd learned that Julia was dead.


	18. Chapter 18

**I feel like a broken record, but sorry it's been so long since I updated! I promise sometimes this week you will get another update. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.**

"How far do you expect we've gone?" Grace asked, looking up at the sun. She figured it was about noon, and she figured it was about a million degrees. The sun beat down on them; Wayne's face and neck was beat red and he said that it hurt. Kimball, over by the wagon, was walking hunched over as if his back hurt him, dutifully leading the oxen. She herself was hot and tired and hated that her brothers could take off their shirts and walk and she had to stay in her dress. Boys had all the luck.

"I don't know," Wayne said. "We're at least a half day ahead of them now, though."

"Lordy, it's hot," Grace said, fanning herself.

"Yeah," he said. "Tell me about it. But once the winter comes, we'll be wishing it was like this."

"You think that we'll still be on the trail when winter comes?" Grace said. "Not at the rate we're traveling."

Wayne chuckled. "True, I suppose." He looked over at the wagon. Jane was saying something, moving the reins in his hands and smirking. Wayne frowned as he saw his mother laugh and put her head on Jane's shoulder. "Do they even realize that Kimball has something wrong with his back?"

"What?"

Wayne motioned toward them. "He's moving along…that's not how he walks. And there she is acting like he's courting her all over again. I mean, look at her!" He sighed. "And you're still upset over…well…"

"Uh-huh," she interrupted.

"And my face is about to crack into a million pieces thanks to this sun," he said, looking up at the sky again, "and it's like she's so in love with _him_ that she's forgotten that she's supposed to love us, too."

"Wayne!" Grace said, frowning. "She's our mother, of course she loves us. The trail is hard on everyone, what's wrong with her laughing once in a while? You sure could use a laugh."

"I was laughing," Wayne said. "When I was with Sarah. She made me laugh, And Pete and Amanda made you laugh. And Summer made Kimball laugh. And none of us are with them right now because she is so Hell bent on helping him get his revenge that…"

"Wayne!" Grace said. "She wasn't going to make us come with her."

"Exactly."

Grace frowned. "What?"

Wayne stopped. "Can't you see? I'm not mad at Mother. I feel bad for her. She's in so deep with Father Jane, she can't see what it's doing to everyone else. She's blind to Kimball's physical pain, she doesn't realize you were clinging to Pete and Amanda to get over Craig, and she had no idea how close Sarah and I had become. She saw, and fell in love with, a tormented man. And she's taking us for granted."

"I'll love her no matter what," Grace said firmly.

"As will I," Wayne said. "I mean she's taking us for granted physically. Mentally. That we'll be here and be healthy and not go crazy. We're more family to her than he is…we're blood, you know? And we're giving up things and people that make us happy to stay with her and keep our family together. Jane…he's not bending over backwards for her. He's amusing her with party tricks and jokes. That's all he's putting in to that relationship. She's giving him everything."

"He stayed with her every night when she was recovering from the gun shot," Grace said. "He loves her, Wayne." She stopped. "Or do I just think that because he claims he loves her? Or because she believes he does?"

Wayne hesitated. "He does," he said. "I'm sure he does. He's grateful for her, that much is obvious, but unless she's in immediate danger, all he can think about is getting to Oregon, getting to Oregon. He only shows it when he's faced with losing her. And he doesn't seem to care that we came as part of the package when he married her. We're just tag – a – longs to him."

Grace looked at her brother. "When did you get so perceptive?"

Wayne shrugged. "You can't live with him for a year and not pick up on it, I guess. Plus, you know, I can put it to good use since I'm not obsessed with getting somewhere faster than the wagon train."

"So, what are we going to do?" Grace said. "Talk to Mama?"

"No!" Wayne said quickly. "We may be old enough to have girl friends and boy friends, but she's still our mother. We can't be disrespectful."

"I know good and well what respectful is, Wayne," Grace said, eyes flashing. "I'm not chided by Mother half as often as you are. But what if he hurts her? Do we just stand by and let that happen?"

"Of course not," Wayne said. "But we have to accept that we're pretty much on our own out here."

"Well, that is true," Grace said. "Our wagon's by itself. The five of us won't make it if we don't stay together."

"Yes," he said. "Which is why we can't talk to Mother about Jane. She won't leave him alone, and the only way for us five to stay together is if we stay with her. So we have to deal with the fact that we're not first."

Grace looked over at the wagon. "I'll lead the oxen for a while," she said. "Give Kimball a break."

* * *

When the wagon stopped that evening, Teresa sent Wayne out to try and shoot a couple of rabbits for supper. "We're going to eat decent tonight," she said. "Jane, can you go see if you can find wild vegetables?"

"Absolutely, ma'am," he said, bowing playfully. She smirked, frowned when she noticed Wayne looking at her oddly, and then went to make a fire. "How are you doing, Grace?" she asked her daughter, who was reading the Bible while it was still light enough to.

"I'm fine," she said, giving her mother a smile.

Teresa smiled back. "Good, good." She made the fire and loaded it with the wood that Kimball had brought her. Once it was blazing as high as she dared let it go, she sat down to watch it, beginning to wonder what was taking her husband so long.

"I'm going to look for him," she said after a bit, getting up. Grace barely looked up from the Bible. "Okay."

Teresa walked up the slight hill, glad that there were no rivers around. She didn't want to see Jane lying motionless in another body of water. Their lives were stressful enough.

Or so Teresa Jane thought. As she came over the hill, she saw the first evidence that perhaps God disagreed. The familiar, and gut wrenching, sight of her husband lying on the ground. This time, there was no river, but the ground appeared to be soft and damp. This time, he wasn't motionless, but convulsing. And this time, as she saw upon running closer, his jaw was clenched and foam was coming from his mouth.

She fell down next to him a hand on his arm, the other hand on his forehead. "Jane?" she said, her voice sounding shrill. _Not again. Not again._ "Jane, how many times am I going to look for you and find you like this?" she asked him, shaking him to try and get him to open his eyes. "Jane, come on!"

She looked back toward where the wagon was, barely one hundred yards away. "_Kimball!_" she shouted. "_Wayne! Grace!" Get over here!_"

Her eyes fell on the pile of plants that were next to him. Could he have eaten something? Teresa racked her brain, trying to think of what would cause this. But she wasn't the best at poisonous plants, and her mind came up with nothing. If she didn't know what was wrong, she couldn't fix it. Tears welled up as she reached, hands fumbling, for Jane's belt, taking the canteen off of it and holding it near his mouth. Her hand tried to pry his jaws open to no avail.

"Dammit, Jane," she said, blinking fast so tears wouldn't blur her vision. "_Kimball_!" she shouted again. "Get down here!"

**No, he didn't take Devil's Cherry. ;) But this is based on that part in the show. You'll just have to wait a little bit to see what this version plays out to be. : ) In addition, Wayne is not the only one who is aware of the problems in his mother and Jane's relationship-Kimball is very aware too-he just wasn't involved in this conversation. ;)  
**


	19. Chapter 19

Jane hit the ground running, literally.

One moment he felt the sensation of falling, and the next, BOOM, he was sprinting through a forest, the floor covered with snow, unseen sticks cracking as his weight came down on them. Something was behind him, something was chasing him, something large and black and with many heads. He didn't think creatures like that existed; he'd always laughed at the folks that claimed monsters lived out beyond site of the Mississippi. He was beginning to wish he hadn't doubted so much.

"Jane!"

He heard it, his second wife's beautiful voice, but it was distant, like she was too far off to help him.

"Jane! Are you okay? Jane, look at me."

His head swiveled back and forth. He couldn't see her. That didn't make sense. She was always there. _Always_.

"Patrick, stop it."

He did stop. He came to a halt almost immediately because the voice, different than the voice he'd heard moments before, was one that he shouldn't be hearing. It was impossible.

He turned to look, and there she was, standing between two pine trees, smiling over at him. She wasn't wearing a bonnet over her hair, instead it hung down past her shoulders like it always had. She was barefoot, like she'd spent as much time as possible, and her head was cocked, like it was when she was in a good mood.

His voice sounded strange when he spoke. "Angie."

She walked toward him and stopped a few feet shy. "Hello, Patrick."

"What…what?" He shook his head. "You're dead."

"It's not half bad," she said. "I wouldn't look this good at forty one."

Jane smiled. "You'd look beautiful to me."

Angela smiled, crossing her arms. "Your new wife seems to age well."

"Eh, well," Jane said, a small smile coming over his face.

"She seems like a kind soul," Angela said. "Just what you need."

Jane never had thought about having a conversation with Angela about Teresa – it hadn't seemed possible; he had never even met Teresa while Angela was still alive – but she certainly didn't seem to be angry with him. "She's wonderful," he admitted. "She's not you," he added quickly.

Angela smiled. "We're the same in a lot of ways," she said. "You trust us, we trust you, we love you despite all your faults. And, most importantly, we're exactly what you need. You do have a type, Patrick Jane. Women with enough of a vulnerable side that you can feel protective, but who you need to function properly in society. You needed me when you were frustrated and down for the count due to your father. I wanted to help you, and we escaped that life together. Now that I'm gone, you're with probably the only woman on the face of the Earth that would willingly join you on your ridiculous plot for revenge."

"Ridiculous?" Jane said. "How is it ridiculous to want to kill the man who killed you and our daughter?"

"Nothing's going to change, Dad. We'll still be dead."

Jane looked to the side to see a young woman come out from seemingly nowhere. Her arms, like her mother's, were folded, and she walked purposefully toward him and Angela. His voice sounded strange again. "Charlotte?"

She smiled, glancing over at her mom. "Hi, Dad."

"You've grown up," he said warmly, reaching out and touching her arm.

She smiled. "I haven't much else to do."

"Why…" Jane trailed off. "Why do I see you? Why do I see you like this?"

"Isn't it better than how you usually see us?" Angela asked. "You ate water hemlock. Bertram warned against that type of plant. And you didn't realize what you'd eaten until you started feeling sick. And then it was too late to do anything about it."

"But as you were alone," Charlotte said, "that still makes you the smartest person in the room." She smiled. "I remember how you always liked being that person. Or at least believing you are that person."

"Well," Jane said, "I…I usually am."

"Mama and I have had some great times these past few months," Charlotte said. "Trying to determine who in your wagon train party is the smartest – Kimball, Wayne, or Grace."

"Them?" Jane asked, giving an amused smile.

"Well, you're rushing off at lightning speed to find and kill someone whose death won't change the past, and Teresa's right there with you, come what may, so that leaves one of her children as the smartest. But we haven't been able to determine which one gets the title yet, seeing as we're in your subconscious and you're rarely with them."

"Rushing off to find…I'm doing it for you," Jane said. "For both of you."

"And how will that change anything?" Angela asked him gently. "It won't bring anyone back. And you'll be months and months away from the place you called home, from where you and Teresa married, from where you lived. You'll have the entire Oregon Trail worth of potential bitterness, animosity, and tragedy between you and the places you and Teresa left behind - and the people you were upon leaving. She's left behind people she loves and the graves of people she's lost in the slightest chance that you might end up in a better place." She sighed. "I know that you don't believe that the people under grave stones are 'there', but…" she looked over at Charlotte, who smiled at her.

"Angie," Jane said. "The man murdered you. And her. He deserves to die."

"At what cost?" Angela asked gently. "Do you want to destroy this new family you've created? You're pushing them so hard, not giving your children affection, and when you get to Oregon and finally kill this man, you'll be left not feeling any better and with a family that resents you."

"They're not my children," Jane said, shaking his head. He motioned to Charlotte. "You're my daughter."

"So am I."

Another voice. This one made Jane tremble; it was a voice that he knew, but he knew that he shouldn't know. This was a voice he never had gotten to hear in any form. But he knew who it had to be, and when he laid eyes on the young girl walking toward him, from near where Charlotte had emerged from the forest, he could see that while her facial shape was nearly identical to his older daughter, her eyes belonged to the woman he'd heard when he first found himself running, but had been unable to see. His heart caught in his throat and he was unable to speak.

"Hey, Julia," Charlotte said, smiling at the brunette. The younger girl walked up to the blonde and smiled at her. She wasn't a baby – but Charlotte hadn't appeared as a six year old either. Julia, looking startlingly like her mother, was pre – adolescent, seemingly dressed in one of Grace's dresses, and about a head shorter than Charlotte.

"Julia," Jane said, finally able to speak.

"Yes," she said, giving him a smile. "Hello, father."

"I…" Jane fought back the choking feeling in his throat and the tears threatening to push past the limits of his eyes. Before him were his first wife and his two daughters, and a wave of sorrow upon being hit, once again, with _just how much _he'd lost, crashed over him and made him fall to the ground, shaking.

"Dad," Charlotte said coming over to him and dropping down at his side. "Dad, it's okay."

Julia fell to the snow beside her half-sister, putting a hand on her father's cheek. "Papa," she said. "We don't have much time."

"What do you mean?" Jane said. "I just got here."

"Listen," Angela said sternly. "Your obsession with making money off of other people's gullibility…remember how bitterly we fought? And remember how it didn't destroy us, but it didn't make us better, either? Don't let this obsession destroy your relationship with Teresa. Don't let our fates decide your own."

Julia looked over at Angela, and then down at her father. "She's right, Papa," she told him. "You have my mother and my brothers and my sister. You _have_ them. Don't do anything stupid and lose everyone who loves you."

"This is what happens when I dream, huh?" Jane said, smiling. "The women of my past hounding me about my future?"

"We're in your past," Angela said, "but we still love you – we want you to be happy. And if you aren't careful, you're not going to be."

"I am happy," he said, reaching up to touch Angela's face. "Teresa is…she's not you, but…"

"Considering what's happened," Angela said. "She's your soulmate. Just like I was back then. The times change, and with them change the people you're supposed to be with."

Jane smiled up at her. "You understand. I knew you would. You always did. Even when you were angry at me."

"You're a complicated man, Patrick Jane," she said. "But that's what draws people to you. Don't take advantage of it."

She bent down and kissed him then. Her lips were familiar, but not quite as he remembered them. He wanted to raise his hands to her neck, and found that he wasn't able to. He couldn't even kiss her back, not really, it was like he no longer had control of his body. He didn't like that.

"What's going on?" he asked. Angela simply smiled at him and looked over to her daughter as Charlotte spoke.

"You're going to wake up," she told him. And everything will be as it was.

"But I just got here," he said. "I just got here. With you all."

Charlotte and Julia looked at each other, and then the older girl smiled down at her father. "We love you, Dad."

They started to blur, and when he moved his face to look toward Angela, she was blurry, too. The blur turned to blackness, and he found that his eyes were closed. When he opened them, feeling suddenly weak, hungry, and parched, he saw the figure of his second wife standing over him, a hand in his, the other resting in his hair. "Teresa," he mumbled.

"Hey," she said, smiling down at him. "Hey, you ate some bad plants, but you're going to be okay, you understand? You're going to be okay."

He looked up at her, confused. Where was he? Why were all their belongings piled up around him? Why was it so hot? He blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat. "Water…"

Teresa fumbled with the canteen, then put a hand behind his head to make sure he didn't choke. He swallowed gratefully, and then looked up at her. "Hemlock."

She nodded. "Yes. Water hemlock. But we took care of it. We kept moving, Kimball and Wayne drove the wagon, Grace walked along side."

"Kept moving…" Jane was puzzled for a moment, and then it hit him. The Oregon Trail! Red John Bandit! Wherever he had just been had faded away like a dream, and the reality was coming rapidly back to him. "Thank you," he said, clearing his throat again. "For keeping moving."

"It's what you would have wanted," she said, smiling. "We knew that."

"Ah-huh," Jane said, a dorky grin coming over his face. Teresa smiled back, then bent down, kissed him, and curled her arms around him as best as she could. He returned the hug, found himself relieved that he actually could…and then found himself wondering why.

**So yes, Jane was given a lecture by his dead family members on what he's doing wrong in his life, and now he's forgotten, as it was not a hallucination, but a dream. But sometimes, dreams have a way of suddenly jumping back into your mind…**

**The next chapter will not be moving the story forward but will detail what is happening in the real world while Jane is unconscious.**


	20. Chapter 20

**As promised, here is the same time period as the last chapter, but from the conscious characters' points of view.**

**I still don't own anything. But hey, those of us in the U.S., Simon Baker directed episode tonight!**

"It's water hemlock," Kimball said, taking the plants from his step father's hand and frowning. "It has the potential to kill with one bite."

"Oh, God," Teresa said, looking down at her husband. His eyes were rolled back in his head, and if it wasn't for the convulsions that were jolting his body she would think that he was dead. "Jane, Jane, please." She bit her lip and looked at her son. "Where are Grace and Wayne?"

"They were tending the fire," Kimball said. "We should get him up there."

Teresa nodded. "Okay."

Kimball moved around his step father and attempted to lift him. He made it about half way before grunting, falling to his knees, and spilling Jane onto the ground.

Teresa gasped and rolled Jane back onto his back brushing the dirt off of his face. "You okay?" she asked Kimball, and when he nodded, she lifted her husband's upper body. "Get his feet," she ordered her oldest child, and he obeyed. They carried Jane up the slope to the wagon.

"Get some of the charcoal," Kimball said to his sister. "We have to force feed it to him."

"Charcoal?" Wayne said, looking confused.

"It will absorb the poison," Teresa said, wiping her eyes and looking down at Jane's head in her lap. His eyes straightened out briefly, and then rolled to the side again before closing. "Hang on, Jane," she whispered. "We're going to help you." She wiped her eyes again. "Just hang on."

Grace got the charcoal and knelt next to her mother. "Open his mouth," she said.

Teresa tried. "His jaw is clenched," she said. She looked up toward the heavens. "Why do plants like this exist?" She shouted desperately.

"Whoa!" Wayne jumped to the side as he approached, his stepfather's seizures becoming more violent.

"Hold him down!" Kimball shouted, kneeling on Jane's legs below the knee. Grace held one of his arms to the ground, and Wayne took the other one. Teresa, charcoal powder clenched in one of her fists, braced her elbow against the side of her husband's face and used her other hand to slowly pry his jaw open. She winced when she managed to get a finger between his teeth and they clamped around it like a vice, but she let the charcoal powder fall into his mouth and then painfully withdrew the digit.

"What do we do now?" Grace asked.

"We wait," Kimball responded, rubbing his back. "And we hope that he wakes up."

"How long will that take?" Wayne asked.

"However long it takes," Teresa said before her son could speak. "He'll wake up."

"I hope so," Kimball said. "For your sake."

"He will," she said. "He will, won't you?" she asked, looking down at her husband. "You have to."

"Come on," Wayne said to Kimball. "Let's go unload part of the wagon so he can lie down."

"There's no need," Grace said. "There's room for one to lay in there. We'd only have to remove things if she wants to stay with him."

"Remove things," Teresa said, nodding.

Kimball and Wayne looked at each other. "Okay," Kimball responded.

Teresa swallowed hard. "Thank you, boys."

When the wagon was unloaded enough, Kimball and Wayne lifted their stepfather into it and settled him down. Teresa climbed into the wagon, laying down next to him and feeling his forehead, his chest, and looking at his eyes, searching for some sign that everything would be okay.

He was breathing, and he'd stopped convulsing. She supposed that'd have to be good enough.

* * *

The following morning, they loaded their things into the prairie schooner and set off, Teresa's orders. "He would want to keep moving," she said. "I'm staying in the wagon with him, Kimball, you're in charge of driving the oxen."

"Yes, ma'am," Kimball said, sounding less than enthusiastic.

She sat back down next to Jane and took his hand between hers while she prayed. He didn't believe in anything, she knew that, she accepted that, she understood that, but it didn't mean that _she_ couldn't still ask for help for him. He was a good person, he was devoted to his family to the point where he would cross this great wide, open country to find the man who had killed them, and she couldn't think of a reason why his life wouldn't be spared.

The sun rose higher, and was almost to the noon position when she heard him moan lightly. "Jane?" She looked down and saw his head move to one side and his eyelids flicker. They fluttered open momentarily, and then shut again. "Jane!" She said. "Are you okay? Jane, look at me." She put a hand on the top of his head and ran it through his hair, squeezing his hand with her other one. "Jane."

He was still again. She shook her head, biting her lip. "I already lost one husband," she whispered. "Don't do this to me."

He grunted again, and his body tensed for a small cough. "I think he's coming out of it," she called. From her spot walking next to the oxen, Grace's red head turned to give her mother a brief smile. Wayne and Kimball exchanged looks.

After a few minutes, he turned his head slightly and grunted, his eyes coming open once more, and then shutting. Teresa squeezed his hand again. "Come on, Jane," she whispered, her lips near his ear in the hope that he'd hear her without her having to raise her voice. She looked at his lips, and then pressed hers to his own briefly, withdrawing to look down at him. "Come on, Jane."

It was another several minutes before he opened his eyes and, for the first time since he'd spoken to her yesterday, they focused. His mouth shifted slightly into a small smile, his eyes only half open, but locked on her in a conscious effort. "Teresa," he mumbled.

**Hope you enjoyed it! I have most of next week off thanks to Thanksgiving, so I'll try to update a bit more frequently. : )**


	21. Chapter 21

**Here's the next chapter! It's 1:30 am here because I'm waiting for the latest episode to download. We'll see how that goes.**

**Still own nothing, and (as usual), apologies for the wait!**

"Should we stop here for the night?"

Jane's head jerked around to look at Kimball. "Here? We could get another half mile tonight if we pushed it."

"We're on a slight incline right now," Kimball said. "Hence the waterfall that we can hear up ahead. If we go too much farther down, we'll risk sinking into mud overnight and the oxen will have a heck of a time pulling us out in the morning, especially with the fact that the rain that hit us this morning looks like it came through here.

"He has a point," Grace said, still looking a bit angry. Her mother assumed it was left over irritability from the unexpected rainfall from that morning. The girl's dress was still damp, clinging to her frame so her shoulders jutted out.

"I agree," Wayne said, turning to face his mother and Jane and standing with his feet apart, almost in a confrontational way.

"You kids make good points," Jane said. "We'll stop here tonight. Give the ground another sleep to dry out."

Teresa was a bit surprised her children had such strong objections to continuing on when it didn't really seem like a realistic option in the first place. "It's settled, then," she said, accepting her husband's hand when he offered it as aid to getting out of the wagon. "Grace, you gather fire wood. Kimball, make sure we don't eat any toxic plants. Wayne, help Grace. Jane and I will go find a rabbit or two.

"You're going hunting?" Grace asked, looking surprised. "With all due respect, Father Jane, my brothers are much handier with a gun."

"Don't worry, Grace," Teresa said, smiling. "I'll be with him."

Grace bit her lip while Kimball and Wayne exchanged looks. Teresa noticed.

"Let's go," she said, turning to her husband with a smile. Grabbing his wrist, she jogged toward the trees.

"You think you're going to out shoot me?" Jane asked her, almost playfully.

"I always have before," she said. "If you weren't a man no one would let you within a hundred miles of a gun."

"It's the frontier," Jane said. "Society's views on what men and women should and should not do and be let near mean nothing out here."

"We're still under the law of the United States of America, are we not?" Teresa said.

"We're in a territory, far from the Rule of Law," Jane said. "Anything goes in this place…" he jumped when Teresa's gun fired. "What was that?"

"That," Teresa said, jogging forward and lifting the dead rabbit by the ears, "was me earning the pants I've got on under this dress."

Jane raised his eyebrows. With her free hand, she hiked up her skirt to her hips, revealing the men's pants underneath. Grinning, she dropped the skirt back down and tossed her husband the rabbit.

* * *

After dinner, Grace changed into her other dress and left the damp one by the remains of the fire in the hopes that it would dry come morning. The boys sprawled out under the wagon, their guns at the ready in case the smoke that could be seen on the horizon was in fact an Indian camp.

Teresa fed the remains of their gathered vegetation to Erica and Krystina, and jumped, nearly spooking the animals, when Jane appeared almost out of nowhere. "Walk with me?"

"Sure," she said, smiling at him in the dark. He took her hand and led her farther West, her bare feet sinking into the mud until they reached a higher spot. "The terrain is strange here," she said. "The river bank is higher than it was back there."

"We're nearing the mountains," Jane said. "Lot of strange stuff in the mountains, I hear."

"Do you believe those rumors?" she asked. "About the half man, half beast? The dinosaurs?"

"It's malarkey," Jane said. "If those creatures existed, they'd exist in the Eastern mountains too."

"I suppose you're right," she said, sinking down next to him as he lowered himself into a sitting position near the water fall. "Look at that," she said, shaking her head.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, looking over and smiling at her. The moonlight coming off the water provided a little more light. "This is the West, Teresa. Welcome to it."

She wanted to retort, much as she would have when they were beginning their friendship, that he couldn't very well welcome her to somewhere that he had just arrived to himself, but she didn't. She'd almost lost him twice in the past two months; she refused to risk upsetting him.

"Look at this," she said, brushing the dirt away from the large rock that they were leaning against. "Calvin and Mary."

"A grave?" Jane asked, looking a bit disturbed as to what he and his wife might be sitting on.

"No," she said. "A wedding. Right here."

"Well, it is a perfect place," Jane said. "The open sky, the trees, the river. The waterfall. It's quite the romantic spot."

"What do you think?" She asked him.

"About what?"

"Calvin and Mary. Did they meet on the trail? Or were they childhood friends? Had one or both been married before? Or were they kids?"

"They met on the trail," Jane said. "Or back in Independence. He's older than she is…not by much. Three years at the most. They're kids. They both had two parents alive at the time of the wedding. And she was pregnant when they exchanged vows…but no one knew but her and him."

Teresa cocked her head, mesmerized. "How do you know?"

He shrugged, looking toward the waterfall. "I don't, really," he said. "No way of knowing out here. Too many unknowns." He looked back at her. "A nice story, though. Isn't it?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah," she said softly. "A really nice story."

Jane got up. "Come on."

"Where we going?" she asked him.

"Just come on," Jane said, pulling her up and leading her farther down the river.

"Jane," she said. "What is going on?"

He stopped her and pointed. "We get a really good view of the moon here," he said. "And the water."

"It's beautiful," she said. "Jane, why?"

"I know we lost track of the date months ago," Jane told her. "But back home, Rachel told us that our anniversary would fall on a full moon. Now I don't know about you, but that moon looks pretty full to me."

She looked at him, and he offered a smile. A corner of her mouth went up. "Patrick Jane," she said. "You know how to make someone forgive you for preventing them from resting."

"I don't have any gift for you," Jane said when they sat down. Teresa took a couple of small pebbles from the ground and tossed them toward the river. "But, you know. As usual. You…you saved me, and I almost can't remember what horrors laid at the bottom of the cliff I was on before you brought me back. These past two years have been so much better than I ever thought they could be after Red John came into my life. Even the sad parts. So…as usual, thank you."

"You're so good with words," she teased. "Jane, I…" she trailed off, looking down at her hands and shaking her head slowly. "These two years haven't been what I thought they'd be, and Lord knows I wish some things could have gone differently, but…" she looked over at him. "But you're there for me, and of course you bring some crazy into my life. I think I needed that and didn't know it." She smiled fondly at him. "Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary, Teresa," he said, smiling back and leaning over to kiss her.

"What now?" she asked him playfully. "You gonna lay me out on this river bank?"

"Do you want me to?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"We're not fifteen," she said, turning pink.

"There are no rules out here, remember?" he asked, grinning.

Lisbon looked back. With the grass, the slight variance in the terrain, and the darkness, she couldn't even see the wagon. And it's not like the good Lord cared, even if there was a full moon. They _were_ husband and wife, after all.

She didn't bother with her disclaimer about not being able to have another baby. He knew good and well, and he loved her anyway.

People said that the full moon made people crazy. Teresa didn't know about that, but tonight was the first time that she felt so emotionally near to her husband when there wasn't a tragedy driving their closeness. It was a nice kind of feeling.

* * *

"Ma," came the whispered voice when Teresa and Jane returned from the river.

"I'll be pitching our tent," Jane said quietly, squeezing her hand before letting it go.

"Yes, Kimball?" she asked.

"I need to talk to you," her son told her. "_We_ need to talk to you."

Teresa saw her other boy crawl out from under the wagon. "Of course," she said. "What is it?"

The brothers exchanged looks, then glanced over to where their step father was making the tent. Kimball looked back at his mother. "It's about him."


	22. Chapter 22

**So almost a month without an update – I am so very sorry! But like I'd said, I had finals, presentations, and some other stuff, and I'm just now settled in at home for the holidays. So I can update again! Hope you enjoy it. : )**

Teresa frowned, glancing over at her husband. "Him?"

"Yes. Him." Her older son cocked his head slightly and regarded his mother with what appeared to be anger.

Teresa turned her head to the side and looked back at her boys. "Okay. What's wrong?"

"He's what's wrong!" Wayne blurted, glancing at his older brother and looking meekly at the ground when Kimball raised an eyebrow.

"Hey. Boys," Teresa said, putting on her mediator face. "Why don't you just calm down and tell me what is upsetting you. Is this about the disagreement over where to stop for the night? Because – "

"It has something to do with that, yes," Wayne said. "But that's not all it is, mother. He's been pushing us, pushing _yo_u, to just get to Oregon as fast as we can, to go an extra mile every single night, so pull away from the people who could get us there safely, pull us away from the people we care about, and in doing so lower our chances of all making it there alive just for his revenge. And you're so irrecoverably in love with him that you're just letting him dictate your actions, my actions, Kimball's actions, and Grace's actions, because you don't want to do anything to hurt him even if it's at the expense of us."

"Excuse me?" Teresa said incredulously. "You're right. I love my husband. But you are my children. I carried you, I gave birth to you, I held you, and fed you, and raised you to be the wonderful people you are, and I do not care for Jane more than I care for the three of you."

"You shouldn't care for Jane more than you care for us," Kimball said. "But it certainly seems like you do."

Teresa was too hurt at what her sons were suggesting to be angry at them for being disrespectful. "I do _not_," she said. It was all she could manage. She was shaking, and she wasn't sure if it was in shock, hurt, or anger. "I _love_ you all."

"I don't doubt that," Kimball said, crossing his arms. "But when it gets this bad, you need a little reminder."

"So you guys are clashing with Jane a little," Teresa said, holding her hands out in front of her, palms up. "It's normal for young men of your age to…"

"Don't bring our age into this," Wayne snapped.

"Wayne!" Teresa said sternly. "I'm glad you two feel comfortable to approach me with concerns, but I'd just like to remind you that I'm your mother, and…"

"That's what we're trying to remind _you," _Kimball said. "Have you seen your daughter recently?"

Teresa had a feeling that Kimball was being more literal than the answer "of course, I spoke to her just a few hours ago" would be acceptable. "What about her?"

"Well, she could stand to gain a few pounds, sleep a little longer, and smile a little more," Wayne said.

"What's the fighting about?"

The current subject of their argument jumped out of the wagon and walked over to her brothers and mother. In the full moonlight, Teresa took her youngest child in.

Grace was almost grossly underweight. The moon light showed off the bags under her eyes. She was walking with a limp.

Teresa looked back to her sons, and her mouth fell open slightly. Wayne had a blackening eye, and she had no idea how it got there. Kimball was standing awkwardly, and his hand was behind him, rubbing his back. Her boys hadn't been getting enough to eat either. And now that she thought back on it, she really couldn't remember the last time she'd seen any of them smile.

"Oh…babies…" she said. "I've been taking you for granted, haven't I?"

"A little bit." Wayne nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay, look," she said hurriedly, "I'll talk to Jane. I'm sure he'll be okay with slowing down. We won't go far tomorrow. We'll hunt, all of us. We'll rest and eat and then push on."

"He's not going to go for that," Grace said quietly.

"Yes, yes he will," Teresa said.

"And if he doesn't?" Kimball asked.

"He will." Teresa said, giving a firm nod. "He will."

* * *

"What do you mean 'everything's fine'?"

"Teresa, calm down," Jane said, reaching up to touch her face with the back of his hand. "The trail to Oregon, it's supposed to be difficult. But we have to keep pushing on or we won't make it before winter. Do you really want to be holed up in a snow bank?"

"We're going fast enough," Teresa said. "The wagon train's nearly a week behind us now. If they can make it, so can we."

"But Red John…"

"I'm starting not to give a damn about Red John!" Teresa snapped. "I have my children I have to worry about! I'm the one who dragged them along on this journey, I won't be jeopardizing their health so you can get your revenge a few days sooner."

"I have my family to worry about, too!" Jane said.

"Your family is dead! _I_ am your family now. _They _are your family now."

"They're your family," Jane said.

Teresa's blood ran cold. He really didn't care. Not enough to listen to her. Not enough to stop. Not for them. He didn't care about them. Not in the way that she did, and not in the way that she needed him to as her husband. She was who he had wanted. She was who he loved. Her children just came as part of the package.

Teresa flashbacked to one of their first nights on the trail. "I know that you need to avenge Angela and Charlotte's deaths," she said. "I knew it when I married you. And when I married you, I married your demons, too. I've told you as much."

"You have," Jane said.

"But," Teresa said. "When you married me, you married everything to do with me. You became my children's father. If you don't give a damn about them, then by default you don't give a damn about me."

"I do give a damn about you," Jane said. "I…I held you when you were shot, I made sure to sleep at your side every night, I…"

"The sacrifices you've made for me aren't comparable to the sacrifices that I've made for you, Patrick Jane," Teresa said. Her voice cracked. "Lord knows that I love you, but my children come first. If you want to push on, then fine. But you'll do it alone."

Jane looked like he had just been shot. "Teresa…" He reached out to her.

She shook her head, backing up. "Don't touch me. Don't you touch me. Don't you try to get me to forgive you by professing your love for _me._ I don't doubt your love for me. But loving me isn't good enough anymore. You were loving someone who wasn't putting being a mother first. That changes now." She swallowed. "You're completely consumed by getting revenge for people who won't know the difference. And Lord knows I want to help you. I know you wouldn't put my safety before finding Red John. I can accept that, but I can't risk my children."

"Teresa, I…"

She jumped back again and swatted his hand when it went for one of her own. "I told you not to touch me, Patrick Jane," she said. She pressed her lips together, shaking her head at him as she took another step in reverse. "Ever again."

Jane looked hurt. "But…"

She held up a hand to stop him. "Can you tell me right now that if given the choice, you'd choose keeping this family as – is and not choose making my children cease to exist?" Jane hesitated. "I just got my answer," Teresa said, turning around and heading back to the wagon. A day ago – and hour ago – if someone predicted that she would be saying this, she would have called him crazy. But after seeing her children as they were for the first time in a long time, after hearing the indifference in his voice when Jane talked about them, and after seeing the man that she thought she loved in a completely new light, her next words didn't even feel to her as the slightest overreaction.

"As soon as we find someone who can legally do it, I want this marriage dissolved."


	23. Chapter 23

**New chapter! See, Nicole updates when she isn't overwhelmed with college! :D Here you go, the immediate fallout of the previous chapter, once the hottest anger has burned out.**

**I still don't own anything.**

Jane slept by the fire that night, leaving his wife alone in her tent. He didn't want to, but Teresa wouldn't even look at him when he returned to their camp and he knew she wouldn't take kindly to him attempting to share her space.

So he walked around to the far side of the fire with his gun and curled up on the ground, his back to the camp to keep watch. They'd seen the occasional Indian, but so far they'd kept their distance, and Jane was hoping that they'd continue to do so. Especially considering what he was now planning on doing.

Teresa didn't want anything to do with him anymore. She'd told him as much and then informed her kids, at the first opportunity, that she was leaving him as soon as they got to Oregon. It hurt, it absolutely hurt – Jane loved the woman – but whether they were married or not, Red John was still out there. His first wife and his oldest daughter were dead because of it.

Jane let out a heavy breath. He had had two daughters in his lifetime. Both of them were dead. He had had two wives in his lifetime. He'd screwed up his relationship with both of them; one was dead because of something he'd done, and the love for him had gone out of the other's eyes.

He cared whether Kimball, Wayne, and Grace lived or died. He absolutely cared about that. But he couldn't help the fact that no, he didn't love them the way that he loved Charlotte. He wasn't responsible for their existence. He hadn't spent nine months waiting for them. He hadn't seen them being born and he hadn't held them while they cried at the shock of being in a cold, bright world. He hadn't raised them. They were old enough to read and write and care for the chickens by the time he even met them.

And if Jane was honest with himself, he resented them because they were allowed to grow up. He resented Walter, the crazy, thrill seeking Walter, because he had had children with Teresa that had grown into three strong individuals. When he had died, he left her with enough money so she didn't have to sell her body to support those babies. He was as reckless a man as Jane…but the death that had resulted from the recklessness was his own. Somehow that man had managed to take care of his family.

Jane hadn't managed to take care of his first family. And _his _child with Teresa hadn't had the chance to draw a breath.

But somehow, that Walter Mashburn had married one of the sweetest women the world had ever known and fathered three good children before death took him. He'd done more right in the four years that those events encompassed than Patrick Jane had in his entire life.

It wasn't too late though, Jane reasoned. There was still time to do good in his life. He could avenge the deaths of Angela and Charlotte without putting Teresa and Kimball, Wayne, and Grace at risk.

And that's what he would do.

* * *

"You're leaving?" Teresa asked, looking at the man she'd called her husband for the past two years and raising her eyebrows. Kimball and Wayne looked up from cleaning their guns.

He nodded meekly. "I, uh, I figure that…if you no longer feel about me…if you're done, then there's no need for me to be around. The pace I'm traveling at his affecting the health of your children, and it's, uh, it's not fair to ask you to continue with me on my quest…for…revenge." He sighed, looked away, and then let his eyes fall on her again. "Thank you for coming with me this far. I'm leaving you with the wagon and the oxen and the food. I'm only taking my clothing and my gun, and your boys are better shots than I am anyway."

"Jane," she started.

He shook his head. "I won't run, Teresa. When you get to Oregon I'll be there, dead or alive. If I'm alive, I will accompany you to get the divorce. You'll be able to marry again if you wish."

"So you're just going to leave?" Teresa asked him, feeling suddenly angry and hurt. "You can't just do that. How are you going to survive walking the rest of the way to Oregon?"

"It's not too far now," Jane said. "People walk farther than this when their wagons break down."

"Well, if that's what you want to do," Teresa said, swallowing. "I suppose I can't ask you to stay."

Jane smiled and began to raise a hand to her face. She realized when he stopped and lowered it that she'd demanded that he never touch her again. "Good bye, Teresa," he said to her. "Good luck."

"Jane, you're going to your death," she said. "I'm mad at you but that doesn't mean I want to come across your remains. If we just take a break, slow down a couple of days. I can still help you. But I can't do it at the expense of my kids."

He looked over at her sons and raised a hand. "You boys take care of her," he said. "If a time ever comes when she can't take care of herself."

"Jane!" Teresa called, but her cry was left unanswered. Jane had turned his back and began to head West.

"Mama," Grace said, coming up behind her and touching Teresa's elbow. "Are we just going to let him go?"

Teresa couldn't answer for a moment; she had to compose herself. She wasn't struggling not to cry, but her heart felt heavy and she was finding it a little hard to breathe. It was just so surprising to her...so very recently they were stretched out by the waterfall, celebrating their second year of marriage and feeling…at least on her end…that everything was okay, it would all work out, and they could be very happy together for decades to come. And now when she looked at him she saw betrayal, she felt used even though she knew he didn't marry her for that intention, and she felt like every time she apologized to Jane for not being able to give him another child _she_ had been betraying her three living children because when she found another husband, they didn't find another father.

"When I fell in love with him," Teresa said, turning to her daughter and putting her arms around the girl's too thin frame, "I acted like a woman with nothing to lose." She tightened her hold on the girl and rocked side to side.

"You _still_ love him," Grace said when they separated. She looked in her mother's eyes. "Don't you?"

Teresa looked at her daughter, swallowed, and sighed. "I love you and your brothers more."


	24. Chapter 24

**Sorry for the wait again, guys! I should stop apologizing and just get to writing though, right?**

"So what now?" Grace asked her mother as the older woman secured the tight red braid.

"Well," Teresa said, "We're going to fall back in with the wagon train, and let Bertram and Dumar lead us to Oregon. Like we initially planned." She looked West, where there was no longer anyone in sight. "And hope and pray that Jane gets there safely so I can divorce his ass."

Grace turned around and gave her mother a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Mama."

Teresa stepped closer to her daughter, put her hands on the sides of her arms, and kissed her cheek. "It's going to be okay now, Grace. We're better off without him."

"We're just going to wait here until the wagon train catches up?" Wayne asked.

"We were going a couple miles farther each day," Kimball said. "They'll be caught up to us by sundown if we don't move."

"We have to move," Teresa said. "But let's go slow. We'll take breaks. Then when we get back in with the wagon train, we'll keep pace with them and get to Oregon safely."

"How far are we?" Grace asked, looking West.

"I have no idea," Teresa said, shaking her head. "But we'll get there."

* * *

The wagon train caught up with them shortly after their noon meal. "Well, well, well," said Gale Bertram as he rode up on his horse. "What have we here?" He scanned the faces looking up at him, and his expression gave away his suspicion. "Where is Jane?"

"He went ahead," Kimball said, standing next to his mother. "We aren't to do with him anymore."

Bertram's eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Teresa. "Really!"

"Call me Teresa Mashburn," she said. "It ain't official yet, but I mean to make it that way as soon as possible."

Bertram gave a nod. "Well, then."

"Kimball!"

The Mashburns turned, Kimball just fast enough to not be bowled over by Summer Edgecomb, the playful blonde giggling and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I thought you'd have gotten, like, chopped up by Indians or something."

Kimball almost smiled.

"Where is Sarah?" Wayne asked Bertram. "I need to speak to her."

"Oh, son," Bertram said, "Sarah…Sarah was taken from us two nights ago."

Wayne looked up at the guide, his mouth falling open slightly. "She's…"

"Drowned," Bertram said. "Drowned near the waterfall. Her and two other girls. They wandered off; we found their bodies the following morning. Guess they tried to ride over the waterfall and had too much confidence in their swimming abilities."

Teresa made the sign of the cross. "Who else was drowned?"

Bertram waited a moment before speaking. "Samantha Pritchard and Amanda Martin."

"No!"

The agonized cry came from Teresa's daughter, and the redhead immediately took off down the line of wagons. Teresa watched her daughter go, looked at her younger son, now on his knees, and then over at Kimball, expressionless as usual, with his arms around Summer's waist. She knew that both men had wanted to slow the pace down for their health, but had wanted to return to the wagon train for their women. Grace wanted to return to the wagons to be with friends her own age. And now the girl Wayne fancied was dead, along with one of Grace's friends. Only Kimball, her oldest, the toughest, was able to return happily, and Teresa allowed herself to smile at the grin on Summer's face, her head tucked under Kimball's chin.

Teresa looked West again, knowing that she wouldn't see what she was looking for. Her heart ached; she was angry at him, she still felt betrayed by him and used by him, but he was still the damaged man that she wanted to help. She'd be lying if she said that it didn't scare her, knowing that the tortured soul was out wandering the prairie, nearing the mountains, with buffalo and bear and Indians and God knew what else, was wandering alone.

* * *

When Pete saw her, he ran around the oxen, crossed the remaining space between them, and gathered Grace in his arms. As if his touch was her cue, she let the tears that were clouding her eyes go the instant his arms were around her.

"I take it you know?" he asked, his voice sounding strange, choked up, not like the happy – go – lucky Pete that she knew.

"Yes," she managed, her body shaking, and she felt Pete break too, just a little bit, his hand coming from around her up to his eyes to wipe away tears before returning it to her back. He rocked her side to side slowly, the dust from the wagons moving by getting in their eyes and on their faces where the tears had rolled down their cheeks. "Craig, now Amanda…"

"I know," Pete said, squeezing her tighter. "I know."

She backed up, letting out a heavy breath through her mouth and wiping her eyes. She swallowed hard and shook her head. "I don't even know if it's going to be okay anymore."

"Hey, hey," he said, shaking his head. "We have to be strong, right? We knew this sort of thing could happen, we…" He trailed off. "I don't have a joke for this."

"I'd doubt your character if you did." She shook her head. "Pete, I just want to die. Why do we get to live while she has to drown? Why did Craig use me to get closer to a step father who doesn't care about anyone but his dead family and my ma? Why do these things happen?"

"I don't know," Pete said. "There's too much uncertainty…I only like uncertainty when it's fun."

That made Grace giggle a little through her tears. "You want to go for a walk? Clear our heads?"

Pete managed a small smile. "Sure."

* * *

Patrick Jane kept going. His demons wouldn't let him stop. Even when the sun began to sink blow the horizon, he kept moving. It's not like he was dragging anyone along anymore.

The terrain was getting more difficult; he was certain the ground was now slanting upward, no matter how slightly, and he could see hills up ahead that would give way to mountains soon enough. There would be rivers to cross without a wagon or money to rent a raft. There were Indians in the distance, and there were bear up ahead that he wasn't particularly looking forward to running in to. But ahead of him, past these hills and mountains and rivers and Indians and bear, was Red John. The man who murdered his family. His wife and his first daughter. Angela Ruskin Jane, and Charlotte Jane.

And when he found Red John, all this pain, all this sacrifice, and all this loneliness would all be worth it.

And that's what he would do when he reached Oregon. Find Red John. And kill him. And then he could do whatever he pleased.

Well, he would have to honor his promise to Teresa and get the divorce…Jane pressed his lips together. That was something he didn't want to do. After Red John was gone, he could move on, he could be the husband that she needed, the father those children needed, and give them everything, every cent he made, every second of his attention, every ounce of his love. But he'd staked his claim to them too early, he supposed. Asked them to bear with him for too long, and it was hard for anyone to continue to give so much to a person who was only promising to return in the future.

He knew that Teresa felt used, and he hated that; he'd always despised those men back home that wooed girls for their bodies and then skipped town, took away their innocence and left with it, never to be seen again. He hated those men.

But he supposed that he wasn't much better. He had never used Teresa's body – despite the societal norm being much different, he gave to her as much as she gave to him when they were intimate, but he'd used her kind nature and her loyalty and her empathy and for someone as inherently good as she was, he was just about as bad as cotton – eyed – joe.

In the distance, Jane could see the smoke from a campfire. He didn't know if they were outlaws, Indians, or a friendly group of pioneers, but he certainly thought highly of company tonight. He'd scoot closer and stake them out, see if they were friendly, and find out where they were headed.


	25. Chapter 25

**New update! Sorry for the short length, it's late and I don't want to jump into the next section in this chapter, since it's a bit longer. : ) Enjoy!**

Kimball stood a pace away from the blonde and looked at her incredulously. "What?"

Summer blinked tears away and looked to the side. "I'm sorry, Kimball."

"After all I said to you about waiting until Oregon," Kimball said, "that was to _prevent_ something like this, and then I'm gone, what, a week, and you're already laying out with the clown from the Scott wagon?"

"Kimball, I'm sorry," she said, tears running down her face now. "He was…charming. And I didn't think I'd ever see you again…I…" she trailed off. "He's dead anyhow. Got run through by the horns of one of Minelli's cattle. Two days after we…" she sighed. "Gosh, Kimball, I'm so sorry."

"What do you expect me to do now, huh?" Kimball asked. "I'm not even sixteen years old, you expect me to take care of a girl who messes around and a baby that isn't mine?"

"I won't mess around anymore!" Summer said. "That was a stupid, stupid thing, and unless I'm wrong about all the nausea, I'm paying the price! Please, Kimball, I didn't love him. I love _you._"

Kimball looked at her. She seemed so small now, her cheeks wet with tears and her eyes pleading with him. He softened slightly, his hurt not quite overcoming his relief to be back in the wagon train with her…and, if he was honest with himself, relief that Sycamore Scott was dead. "I love you too," he said. "But you know how complicated this makes things."

"Kimball, I'm not coming to you because I want male protection," she said. "I'm coming to you because I'm relieved you're alive. And it's not like I didn't tell you."

Kimball nodded. "I know." He looked at her another moment, then sighed and opened his arms. Summer walked into his embrace. "Thank you," she said.

He smiled tightly, putting a hand up to her head. "It's going to be okay."

"Now it will," she whispered, cuddling closer to him.

Kimball knew that his time away from Summer, and her vulnerability had weakened him, perhaps too much. But he was far from home; his siblings and mother were all mourning one person or another, and he felt helpless to do anything about it. At least Summer was someone that he could help and protect.

* * *

Teresa didn't sleep anymore.

She dozed off occasionally, but it was always after hours of tossing and turning in the tent, and her rest was never long or fulfilling. Madeline suggested that it was because she was alone, but she knew that that wasn't it. She would be totally capable of sleeping if her mind was at rest, but with Jane being not only out of the tent, but out in the wilderness with no protection, with Grace and Wayne in mourning, and with Kimball seeming unsettled by something at dinner that evening, her mind was racing in a million directions, she felt strung out, and her heart ached, and the result of all those factors meant that she wasn't getting any rest.

At least Grace and Pete were fairly close…possibly closer than she had always thought, if the way they'd looked at each other at supper was any indication. And Kimball had danced with Summer that night at the fire, so perhaps what was bothering him wasn't a great deal either – though if he was still acting oddly in the next few days, she was going to ask him what was going on. As for Wayne, Gale Bertram had put him in his night watch, so he at least had a distraction.

Gale Bertram. He'd called her Mrs. Mashburn that evening, and Teresa had been surprised with how negatively she'd felt about that. It was she, of course, who asked that no one refer to her as Mrs. Jane, but now that she had reverted to her first husband's name, it didn't feel right. Walter Mashburn, though she'd had his name until two years ago, had widowed her over a decade ago. He wasn't a part of this woman, who was halfway across the country – probably more than halfway by now – and very much a different person than the young woman who had married the rich man. Teresa entertained the idea of dropping both of her previous attachments and reverting to the name Lisbon again, but she knew that wasn't right either. Teresa Lisbon was still there, deep down, as part of her past, but she knew that she'd been influenced too much by the people that had come into her life since her first marriage to ever be that young woman again. She _was_ Teresa Jane now, whether she was angry at her current husband or not.

She wondered if walking out on him made her a hypocrite, since she too was refusing to see him through with his problems. But she reasoned that she had been trying, and he wasn't giving to her what she'd given him. It was only then that she got out, cut her losses, and done what was best for her family.

But now that she was back in the wagon train, now that her children had people their own age to support and to be supported by, she longed for the man she'd spent the past two years loving. She didn't know where he was or if he was okay, and it was slowly hitting her that she'd allowed an emotionally unstable man with limited hunting experience to wander off alone.

Teresa tried to fight down the panic that rose in her chest whenever she allowed herself to entertain that thought. She'd accepted by now that she couldn't stop loving him, but the last thing she wanted was to betray her children again. She had had a choice – let Jane fend for himself, or let her children do so.

Patrick Jane was a grown ass man. And, Teresa reasoned, if he still loved her, or cared enough to put his living family above the dead who could no longer be helped by him, then he could return to her. He knew where she was.


	26. Chapter 26

**New update – sorry for the wait!**

Upon making camp for the night, on the outer circle of the wagons, Kimball left his mother and siblings for Summer's wagon and Grace kept looking toward the fire as if she was expecting someone. Only Wayne didn't appear to have plans; he crawled under the wagon and curled up, not even bothering to bring his gun.

"Wayne," Teresa said softly from her spot next to Grace. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine, Mama," he said. "Honestly. I just need sleep. That river crossing today was…was rough."

Teresa nodded, biting her lip as she remembered the young couple whose mules had failed them in the middle of the river, going under and dragging the wagon and the couple down with them. There was nothing anyone could do.

Teresa was tired of death.

"Hey," came a slightly raspy voice. "Everything okay?"

Teresa smiled at Dumar. "Hello there," she replied. "Yes, it's fine, everything's fine," she said when he repeated his question. "We're just still adjusting."

"What should I call you?" he asked. "Not Jane, of course, but Mashburn? Your maiden name?"

"Ms. Lisbon is fine," Teresa said, reverting back to her old name despite her earlier feelings on the matter. She didn't know who the Hell she was anymore.

"It's a shame about your husband," Dumar said. "He was just too caught up in that Red John business."

"Oh, he'll get him," Teresa said. "He'll get him. I just can't sacrifice my children so he can kill someone. But he's going on alone, and he'll get him."

"What if he doesn't?" Dumar asked. Grace, still scanning the other wagons, turned and gave the man a confused look. "What if you get to Oregon and find that he hasn't caught him? What if you get to Oregon and find he never arrived?"

"Well," Teresa said, "then I suppose I will start my own investigation."

Dumar's eyes shot up. "Really? You'd do that for him, after how careless he's been with you and your family?"

"He's my husband," Teresa said.

"Aren't you getting a divorce as soon as you get to Oregon?"

"Why is her personal life any of your business?" Grace asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Grace!" Teresa chided sharply. Her daughter lowered her head. "Even if we get a divorce, he's my husband now, and I married him because I loved him," she said. "We started out to get Red John and I'm going to help him finish it. I just refuse to do it in a way that will threaten my children."

"Well what if-"

"With all due respect, Dumar," Teresa said, "my daughter is right, this isn't any of your business. And if you're trying to flirt on me or something, I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."

"Whoa!" Dumar said. "I am not flirting. I just don't understand after everything that he's done to you, when Red John has done _nothing_ to you, why you would want to continue to pursue the man."

"Why are you defending him?" Grace said, jumping up. "He's hurt so many people."

Dumar stood up as well, and feeling suddenly threatened, Teresa too got to her feet, putting a hand in front of her daughter.

"Red John," Dumar said tensely, "is a good man. I can't have anyone coming after him, not after what he's done for me!"

Teresa felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"

Dumar pulled the gun from around his shoulder and held it up over his head. "Don't yell. I'll shoot and run. See those trees? We're getting into the mountains now, they won't find me."

"And if we don't yell?" Grace asked, her hands shaking.

"Well," Dumar said, "that would just be inconvenient for me." Raising the gun to his shoulder, he pointed it at Teresa.

Two things happened then. Two things happened at once.

Grace jumped around her mother to use her body as a shield.

A shot rang out.

And then, with the briefest of delays, Dumar fell to the ground, choking.

Grace and Teresa stared in unified shock at Patrick Jane, standing at the edge of the trees with a shotgun, still smoking.

Grace turned around and buried her face in Teresa's shoulder, hugging her tightly. Teresa returned the gesture, placing one hand in her daughter's hair and holding her close. Her eyes were trained on Jane, barely recognizable in the twilight, staring back at her.

The shot caused a commotion from the inner wagon ring, and within a minute there were a good dozen people surrounding them, shouting questions, dragging Dumar's body off.

Jane dropped his gun and jogged over to them, stopping in front of Teresa and Grace just as Pete showed up and, fully realizing that she and her mother were okay, the red head fled her mother's arms for the boy's.

Jane took another step toward Teresa and then stopped, looking in her eyes, searching them as if needing to make sure she was okay. She was uncomfortable with the feeling that his look stirred in her, so she closed her eyes for a moment before refocusing. "Jane."

"I, I met with some people," Jane said. Some whites that have inbred with the native tribes. One of their daughters gave me some information on Red John, including that that man was…" he shook his head. "Was working for him. I didn't want you and the kids to be anywhere near him."

"Jane, let's go somewhere that we can talk," Teresa said. "There's too much going on here."

They walked a short distance away, into the trees. "You saved our lives," she said. "Thank you."

Jane looked as if there was something else he wanted to say, but he gave her a smile. "You're welcome." He nodded. "You're welcome. Look, Teresa…" he sighed, looking down. "I need to apologize. It wasn't fair asking you to drag your children along on this adventure of mine."

"No," she said, "it wasn't."

She didn't want to be so cold to him, and he knew it. He looked at the ground again. "I know I'm in no position to ask this, but…I'd like to continue with you and the children, at the wagon train's pace, until we get to Oregon. From there, I will sign whatever divorce papers you'd like, I will stay completely out of your life, I'll…I'll do whatever you want me to do. But I can't continue to Oregon on my own. I just can't. There's rivers, and bears, and…"

"Jane," she interrupted, stepping close to him and looking up into his face. "You can come with us. But I call the shots. You're not acting as my husband. You're acting as a tenant, minus paying rent. We will share a tent only if it is raining, and we will not engage in man - wife relations. I will act as authority when it comes to trading with other families or with natives. If my children do not want to speak to you, I will not chide them for being disrespectful. Understand?"

He nodded solemnly. "I understand."

She gave him a smile. "Then welcome to our wagon."

He smiled then, and before she could remember that she was supposed to protest, he stepped forward and gave her a hug.

**Hope you enjoyed it! Two quick things. 1. I still own nothing, and 2. Reviews are really helpful and encouraging. :)**


	27. Chapter 27

***insert apologetic A/N here***

***insert disclaimer here***

Summer Edgecomb was definitely pregnant. And she was definitely pregnant all the time.

When she'd started waking up with nausea, some of the women had apparently told her she'd feel better as the day went on. That, Teresa noted quickly, wasn't the case. Summer spent most of her day with her head hanging out the back of the Jane – Mashburn? – wagon, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the trail and coughing at the dust.

"This should go away," Teresa said, crouching in the small space behind the sick girl.

"What do you know, anyway?" Summer said, wiping her mouth. She suddenly sat partway up and looked over her shoulder at Teresa, blinking as if it suddenly had occurred to her to be polite, and added "ma'am."

"I did do this four times," Teresa said, rubbing the girl's back.

"Mrs..Ms…" Summer struggled.

"Jane," Teresa said. "For now, anyway."

"Mrs. Jane," Summer said. "Everyone's talking. About me. And Kimball."

"Sweetie," Teresa said, "Of course they're going to talk. You just hold your head up high and, and I'm not saying this because he's my son, do _not_ throw false blame on Kimball. He's doing what he should do if your baby was his, and while I know my son will raise that child as his own, don't you forget that he isn't. Don't take him for granted, you understand me?"

Summer nodded. "I'm gonna treat him as well as he treats me, Mrs. Jane."

Teresa smiled. "Good girl." "I'm gonna get out of here and give you the rest of the space, okay?"

"Thank you."

"That's a good girl," Teresa said as she settled down next to her oldest son on the wagon seat. "Despite what people are saying."

Kimball gave a brief nod. "I know."

"She's impulsive and she's reckless and she thinks she's capable of more than she is," Teresa said. "But she's good, and she knows how to hang on if she has to."

"You know all that from a brief discussion with her on nausea?"

"No, son," Teresa said. "I've been married to two people like that."

They sat in silence for a while, Wayne walking alongside the oxen and Jane trailing along, to the left and back a few feet, keeping his head down as he promised. Teresa would be lying if she said that his meek, submissive stance didn't hurt her, but she held down the urge to try and make him feel better. She was still mad at him. She still loved her kids more than she loved him, and that completely made irrelevant the fact that she _did_ still love him. He did wrong by her and her kids, and she couldn't associate with him beyond helping him to Oregon and helping him find Red John.

But what then?

Then, of course, the reason he'd been so blind to the needs of his step children would be gone. _Then_ he might have a one hundred percent committal to the family. _Then_ he might grow more attached to them simply out of need to send his love somewhere, having already avenged Angela and Charlotte. _Then_…then all her reasons for wanting to separate from him might disappear.

Teresa looked down at her hands, hating that she was now longing for a life where she could have Jane and her family, that they could all be parts of a whole, a real family without demons or side motives or any distractions from just being together.

Teresa looked over at the man that persuaded her to take up her children and run away, all of them, to Oregon, a place where they could kill the man who had murdered his family, a place where, afterward, they could all be happy.

_It's going to be hard. I'm going to need you to be with me one hundred percent. Can you do that, Teresa?_

Teresa sighed, looking away from Jane momentarily. She knew she was walking a dangerous line here. She couldn't even tell herself that she wasn't 'bearing with him' because she'd promised, or if she was looking for an excuse to _not_ divorce him. Promising to wait to finalize anything until Red John was dead…that gave him the perfect excuse to continue to pursue the serial killer with her, granted limited, help, and then to transform into a man that she wouldn't look bad in taking back.

_I'm with you. You know that._

But she'd promised. And Teresa Lisbon Mashburn Jane didn't go back on her promises, no matter how badly they hurt. She didn't care if she got hurt. Her children were fine, and that was what mattered. Especially now. Especially since she'd neglected them, too caught up in a blind romance with a restless man. And now two of them had lost people they loved, each in its own heartbreaking fashion, and the third was going to struggle to stay out of the poor house and raise a baby that wasn't his with a woman who he had never lain with. Teresa was struggling with her conflicting feelings, and Patrick Jane had seemingly, albeit temporarily, been broken.

_Oregon will be where all the sadness comes to a satisfying conclusion, Mrs. Jane. I promise. You'll see._

She wished she still wholeheartedly believed anything caring that came out of Jane's mouth.

* * *

By the time they made camp, rain had come out of the mountains and prevented any fires from succeeding to flame. Tents went up, dogs ran under wagons, and the oxen snorted indignantly at being out in the rain.

"Remember," Teresa warned Jane as he followed her into the tent. "You stay on your side." She was drenched in rain water, having not allowed him to help her with the tent, and as she curled up on the right side of the sleeping space, her teeth began to chatter.

"Teresa," he said. "It is freezing out. Come over to this side, at least until you dry off."

"Forget it," she said, curling up into a tighter ball and rolling on her side away from him.

Jane sighed, looking down at his feet, and closed his eyes. "Okay."

"You really screwed this up big time, huh?"

He jumped, then looked to his right. "Charlotte," he said. "What are you doing here? I didn't eat anything."

She shrugged. "I guess you just needed me."

"For what?" he said. "I'm back. I have my information. I'm going to get Red John."

"How are you not over Red John?" Charlotte said. "That obsession has destroyed your marriage. That woman?" she motioned with her head to Teresa. "That woman loves you so much. And now she's doing everything she can to separate herself from you while still taking care of you. And she's going to leave you once you're in Oregon. Is getting Red John worth it if you don't have anything after that to look forward to?"

"You're in my subconscious," Jane said. "You're supposed to be agreeing with me."

"I'm the part of your subconscious that you don't want to actively entertain," Charlotte said. "I'm what's eating at you, but not what you allow to be processed into a coherent thought. That's why I don't show up a lot."

"I see," Jane said. "So what other thoughts am I trying to hold down?"

"Well," Charlotte said. "My guess is you're terrified that Teresa won't take you back even if you had a change of heart. Especially not if she finds out about Lorelei."


	28. Chapter 28

**New chapter time! Enjoy!**

**Still own nothing, nada, zilch. Oh balls.**

When Teresa Lisbon woke up the next morning, her clothes still damp, Patrick Jane was nowhere to be found. _Of course,_ she thought, rolling her eyes to herself as she took down the tent and loaded it back into the wagon. That was Jane, gone without warning, only looking out for himself. This was exactly why she was leaving him. He was his own number one.

"Mama," Grace said, coming up to her and giving a hug.

"Grace," Teresa said, hugging her daughter back. "What is it?"

She shrugged, smiling at her mother. "It's pretty close to when your birthday would be. And I don't have a gift."

"Grace," Teresa said, smiling and putting her hand on the girl's cheek, "you are just so sweet."

"Kimball's gonna drive the wagon for you today," Grace said. "As a present."

"You guys," Teresa said, not sure what else to say, as she pulled her daughter into a hug again. "Have you seen Jane?"

Grace looked surprised. "He's not with you?"

Teresa shook her head. "No, he isn't. He must have wandered off in the night."

"I hope not," Grace said. "There's some Indians camping about a half mile from here. They don't seem hostile, or they'd have attacked us by now, but…"

Teresa's eyes widened, and she looked to her left, where Grace had gestured. Over a slight hill there was smoke – what looked like controlled smoke, and it certainly wasn't from any of the Oregon party. "Oh my God."

"Don't worry, Mama," Grace said. "I doubt he's in any trouble."

Teresa looked toward the Indian camp for another moment, and then nodded. "You're right." She motioned to Grace to head back to the wagon. "Let's get ready to go."

* * *

Patrick Jane didn't return until the wagons were all in line, and when he did, he wasn't alone. Teresa was standing a little ways away from the wagon, letting her hair down and shaking it out, when a voice came from behind her. "Happy birthday."

She jumped, and then turned around to see Jane standing there, a small, slate gray horse next to him. "You scared the life out of me," she scolded before regarding the animal. "What the Hell's this?"

Jane looked confused. "Your birthday present," he said. "Her name is Mouse."

"Mouse," Teresa said, raising her eyebrows and trying to ignore the feeling stirring within her. "What kind of name is mouse?"

"Well, she's gray," Jane said, looking just upset enough at her rejection of the name for Teresa to know that he'd come up with it. "Look at her, she's sweet." He petted the mare's nose, and she blew out softly and rubbed her muzzle against his hand.

Seeing him with the horse was making Teresa's heart melt in a way that she knew was a bad idea, but when Jane told her how pretty she'd look sitting atop Mouse, she couldn't stop the intense blush from coloring her cheeks, and though she protested somewhat, it didn't take much for her to allow Jane to hoist her up onto Mouse's back, sitting astride like any man would, her skirts falling fairly naturally on either side of her.

"Ah, that'd make a lovely painting!" Jane said. "Or a daguerreotype." He clapped his hands together. "So, so beautiful."

"Stop it," Teresa said, partly out of modesty and partly because she hated how all he had to do was compliment her and she was near about ready to take him back. _You are better than this, Teresa Lisbon Mashburn Jane._

Jane grinned up at her, and then took the horse by the lead and walked forward. Mouse followed obediently, and Teresa found herself wishing that it hadn't been years since she'd been on the back of a horse. "Where did you get her?" she asked.

"I traded some things I didn't need for her," Jane said. "The Indians camping over yonder are quite friendly."

Teresa noticed her children looking over at them from the wagon. Teresa made a point of making eye contact with each and smiling, and, apparently satisfied, they went back to talking.

And so did Teresa and Jane. As the sun grew higher and the temperature became unnaturally hot for the time of year, Jane made small talk, pointing out types of plants and small animals, and the figures of the mountains, still miles ahead of them. They weren't talking about the right things, Teresa knew, but what did it matter? They weren't going to stay married, they didn't need to talk about their problems. They already had a solution.

The wagon train stopped for a long lunch to prevent the weaker animals from collapsing and dying in the oddly warm temperatures. Mouse, who was already growing a thicker coat for winter, was sweated up pretty good.

"Let's take her down by those trees," Jane suggested. "I was here about a week ago, and there is a pretty nice little pond."

"All right," Teresa said. "Grab my canteen from the wagon?"

"Sure thing, ma'am," Jane said, smiling at her before vanishing to get the canteen. Teresa looked away and blinked rapidly to fight down the blush. In her new line of vision, she saw Kimball fanning Summer, who was smiling up at him. Their genuine affection for one another made Teresa smile, something Jane noticed when he returned with her canteen, handing it up to her. "What?"

"Just…" Teresa shook her head. "Nothing."

"Hmmm." Jane took Mouse's lead and walked them down to the pond, turning to help Teresa down, but she kicked Mouse on and rode her clear into the water. Once Mouse's belly was submerged in the water, Teresa slid off, and found herself up to her breasts in the cool water. She shuffled back toward the shore just slightly to get better footing.

"Smart lady!" Jane said, fanning himself from shore. He gestured to the water. "May I?"

"It's not my water," she responded, looking over her shoulder at Mouse, who was slinging her head back and forth in the water, making ripples.

Jane waded out to where she was and smiled seeing her observe the horse. "Do you like her?" he asked.

"Yes," Teresa said. "She's beautiful."

"Good," Jane said, smiling sideways at her. "Good."

There was a long moment of silence, and then Teresa sighed. "I don't know if I told you this," she said. "But I'm glad you're okay. I was worried about you."

Jane nodded, giving her another small smile. "I'm glad you're glad." He looked back toward Mouse, then lowered his eyes. "I miss you, Teresa."

"How can you miss me when I'm right here?" she asked, partly asking because she somehow felt like she was missing him, too, but that didn't make sense. It's not like he was still out in the wilderness somewhere, and she was mad at him besides.

"Just…" Jane shrugged. "You know me better than anyone else. And when I was out alone, I missed knowing that there was someone right there that knew what I was going to do almost before I did, and I missed not knowing how badly I was screwing up one of the best things to ever happen to me."

"You're not alone now," Teresa said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm going to see you through to Oregon. I promised you that much back home."

He nodded. "I know." He folded his arms and watched Mouse for a few more minutes; the mare had wandered to shore and rolled, getting her coat all dirty, and then waded back into the pond, pawing at the water. Then he sighed heavily and looked back at her. "I'm sorry, Teresa," he said, holding her gaze. "I'm sorry for everything. For more than you know."

"Jane," Teresa said, sliding her hand up to his shoulder and then back to his elbow. "No harm done. My kids are okay. I should have been more attentive to them, and more in tune to what I was letting myself get caught up in. But everything is working out. It's okay."

"Thank you," Jane said, turning to face her, the sun reflecting off the sweat on his face. "And I really, really am sorry."

She nodded. "I know." They stood in silence, looking at each other, and then Jane gave a small smile. "We're having one of those moments."

"What moments?" Teresa asked.

"You know," Jane said, "where I want to kiss you, but I don't know what you'll do, and where you want to kiss me but that would erase all the lecturing and stubbornness you fed me earlier, so instead we just stand here and stare at each other."

"I don't want to kiss you," Teresa corrected.

Jane raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Teresa said, feeling guilty for not being totally honest. "No…maybe…" she shrugged. "I don't know. I'm still mad at you. But you're still Jane. And…" she trailed off again. "I don't know if I want to kiss you."

Jane leaned in. "Let's see."

His lips touched hers, and Teresa got her own answer. She kissed him back feverishly, somehow her hands were on his face, then after a few seconds she jumped up – a much easier feat in the water, requiring much less effort than usual – and hooked her legs around his waist. He was kissing her hungrily, almost greedily, like he never had before – this was a man who knew he was being given a second chance – and then his hands moved from her back to under the water, drawing her skirt up over her hips…and she gave him no reason not to.

No protest.

No hesitance.

Teresa knew she was falling back into old habits, she knew this was a bad idea and she knew that she was erasing all meaning behind her earlier line in the sand. But this was how she was when it came to Jane, her every action some sort of mistake, too caught up in the moment to wonder what he meant when he said that he was sorry _"for everything." _

_"For more than you know."_


	29. Chapter 29

**Yes, a quick update! Less than twenty four hours! This is what a free weekend means!**

Fortunately, when Teresa and Jane returned to the wagon train, Teresa once again atop Mouse, no one asked questions. It appeared that several others had found a place to cool off, too, so the fact that both of them were drenched head to toe didn't raise any suspicions of what had happened. They were simply written off as smart, among the pioneers that took advantage of water sources near the mountains.

The temperature cooled off considerably as the sun sank lower in the sky, and shortly before it was time to camp for the night, one of the lookouts spotting something near the base of the mountain. "What's that?"

"Go check it out," Bertram ordered.

"No need," Jane said. "I was there just shy of a week ago. It's a group of pioneers, two families and some others, twelve or fifteen in total, who decided to scrap Oregon and make camp near the mountain. They're friendly."

"As much as I don't want to admit that you provided any sort of useful insight to this journey," Bertram said, "thank you, Jane. We'll camp at their place tonight, with their permission."

Jane smiled, and then looked up at Teresa when Bertram moved away. "There's someone there who knows about Red John."

Teresa's eyes widened. "There is?"

"Yes," he said. "A young woman. She knew him. She gave me insight as to where he's headed once they reach Oregon."

"That's fantastic!" Teresa whispered.

"Mmm hmm," he said, grinning up at her. "It is."

"Whoa," Jane said suddenly, looking behind him with raised eyebrows.

"What?" Teresa turned and her eyebrows shot up, too.

Kimball was driving the wagon, Wayne leading the oxen. Walking alongside the wagon was Pete and Grace, their arms around each other, faces tilted toward each other, smiling.

"I didn't know they were sweet on each other!" Jane said. "Did you?"

"I had my suspicions, with them always darting off once we make camp," Teresa said. "They've never been so obvious about it."

"Are they…."

She shook her head. "I have no idea. I know one of my kids is waiting until Oregon and the other definitely didn't. Grace is a wild card."

"Well, Pete's a good boy," Jane said. "If they are doing anything, he'll own up to it should he need to do the right thing."

"I'd prefer to not have to deal with a pregnant teenaged daughter on the Oregon Trail," Teresa said.

"Eh," Jane said, "we're only a month from Oregon. Not much would change with her between now and then."

"Still," Teresa said, "I prefer to think I raised my kids to be responsible and make good decisions."

"Hey, you married me!" Jane joked, both of them falling silent as soon as his words were out. "Ah…" Jane said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're right," Teresa said. "I did marry you. Wayne must get his judgment from me."

"Come on, Teresa, you can't still be mad at me," Jane said. "You didn't seem very divorce-y in the pond."

"I'm still mad at you," she said. "That doesn't mean I don't still love you."

Jane smiled at her words. "So…" he said hesitantly. "Can we work on it? Work on us?"

She looked down at him. "We don't pull any more stunts, okay? You have to promise me that. I won't jeopardize my children for you again."

"Understood," he said, nodding.

"Then okay," she said. "We'll work on it."

"Good," he said, smiling. "Good."

* * *

"Howdey!" said a stocky, graying man as the wagons approached, coming out of a crudely built log house and waving. "You all must be Bertam's train."

"That we are," Bertram said, dismounting and extending his hand to the man. "Gale Bertram."

"Henry Deed," the man responded, shaking his hand. "Say, is Patrick Jane with you?"

"Deedy!" Jane said, raising a hand and jogging over to him. The two men shook hands and hugged. "I told you I'd be back!"

"We missed you, Patty," said Deed, slapping Jane on the back again. "Missy and Nell missed you, too, but now they're much less anxious about having them babies." Deed smiled at the wagon train. "This man's great at calming people down."

"Tell me about it," Teresa said, dismounting from Mouse. "I was shot in the shoulder a few months ago."

"Well, well, well," said Henry Deed, coming over and taking Teresa's hand, drawing it to his lips. "You must be Teresa. You're just as pretty as he said you were."

"And who did he say I was?" Teresa asked.

"Soon to be ex wife."

_Ah. Blatant honesty._

"Patrick!" came two cheerful voices, and out of another one of the cabins came two young women, obviously pregnant, barefoot with their hair tightly braided.

"Ah, hello!" Jane said, smiling and raising a hand in greeting. "Reese," he said, "this is Missy, and the blonde is Nell. Their husbands died in a stampede about three months ago."

"I'm so sorry," Teresa said

"Don't apologize to me," Nell said. "Kurt had a nasty temper. Missy though, she loved Walker. But we're okay now. Aside from having these babies any day. This hot day we had? If there wasn't all these mens around I'd be walking around like God made me." She gave a laugh. "Thankfully this baby's gonna come soon, he has to, I mean, look at me!"

Teresa nodded. Apart from her swollen belly, Nell was rail thin. "So Jane's been some sort of help?" she asked.

"Yes," Missy said. "He taught us how to focus our thoughts elseware so our feet and backs don't hurt, and how we can sleep comfortably. He's a real sweet man, Miss Teresa."

"He is," Teresa agreed, remembering how he'd comforted her through both her miscarriage and bullet extraction. "He really is."

"What's all the commotion?" came another voice, heading out of the trees. This man was younger than Henry Deed, but shared some features, and it didn't surprise Teresa in the slightest when he was introduced as Amos Deed.

"How many of you are there here, anyway?" Pete asked after he and some of the other males shook hands with the Deeds.

"Well, there's me and pa," Amos said, "And Nell and Missy. Jacob and Winifred live down there with Jake and Nathan, Rachel and Young are in that one, and then there's Lorelei and Violet. Twelve of us. Plus the two babies, once they're borned."

"Growing community," Kimball said.

Amos looked a little uncomfortable. "That's the idea."

"Care to join us for some buffalo?" Henry Deed asked. "How many are in your party?"

"About fifty," Bertram said.

"No problem," Deed responded. "We've got plenty to go around. It can be like a Thanksgiving of sorts."

"Patrick?"

Both Teresa and Jane looked to a gap in the trees, where a young woman, older than the teenaged Nell and Missy but younger than Teresa, was walking toward them. Her hair was dark and her skin was tanned, and she looked right at home in the woods.

"Lorelei," Jane said slowly, giving her a smile.

"How are you?" she asked, walking up and taking his hand to shake. "It's good to see you again."

"Ah, yes," Jane said, glancing toward Teresa. "Lorelei, this is Teresa."

"Of course," Lorelei said, extending her hand. Teresa shook it and smiled. "I've heard a lot about you, ma'am."

"That's good to hear," Teresa said, not bothering to ask what exactly Lorelei had heard.

"Well," Bertram said, looking back to where the wagon train was circling up for the night, "we'll get to making camp, and maybe some of the women can help prepare the buffalo?"

"I will!" Summer said. "I can help!"

"Same here," Grace volunteered.

"And me," Teresa said.

Bertram smiled. "It's settled, then. Jane, Pete, Kimball, Wayne, come with me. We'll cut some firewood."

The males followed Bertram off, and Grace and Summer smiled at each other and went to the wagon for cooking supplies. Teresa was going to follow, but then saw Lorelei watching her, smiling in the dimming light. "You have a lovely husband," she said.

"I do," Teresa agreed. "Overall, he's a good man."

"And you're a good woman, Teresa," Lorelei said. "To be speaking to me with such civility."

"Why would I not?" Teresa asked, cocking her head slightly.

Lorelei put on a face that was clearly feigning confusion. "We were lovers," she said, motioning with her head toward where the men had gone to cut firewood. "Him and me." She cocked her own head, regarding Teresa. "Did he not tell you that?"

She gave a small smile, and then retreated into the darkness. Teresa didn't want to watch her go, but she suddenly found herself unable to move.


	30. Chapter 30

**New chappy time!**

It was several seconds, though it felt like much longer, until she could move again, and her first decision was to confront her husband. Heart pounding, aching, and racing all at once, Teresa marched past Jane, heading for the woods, motioning angrily for him to come with her. "You slept with her!" She said angrily once she felt they were out of earshot. It was half a question, because part of her wanted to deny it so incredibly, and half the accusation that she knew it really was. Her eyes flashed, burning into his, daring him to deny it.

She could see in his own eyes that he couldn't.

"I can explain."

"What the Hell is there to explain?" Teresa spat. "I'm aware of how it _works,_ Jane!" She was shaking, she was so angry, and she knew that Jane noticed. She hated that. "What the Hell were you thinking? I'm your _wife!_"

"Who told me that a divorce was the only future for us," Jane said. "She knows things about Red John. How was I supposed to get her to tell me?"

"And that makes it okay?" Teresa shouted, her voice sounding odd, as if she was about to cry, but angry at the same time. "Maybe I just don't understand. I've only been with two men, both of which I was married to. I carried their children, I cooked, I cleaned, I followed to God knows where and this is the thanks I get?" She said, letting out a hot breath. "One of them is six feet under and the other is prodding every woman he sees."

"Teresa, it didn't mean anything," Jane promised. "Listen to me. I _love_ you. Red John or not, if I'd thought there was any chance at us working it out, I never would have-"

"Don't try that," Teresa snapped. "You came back to us. You had to have thought there was some chance. But you know what?" She took a step back and shook her head. "There isn't any more."

"Teresa." Jane reached for her, but she allowed him to move a step closer only so she could wind up, take a swing, and connect her fist to his nose. Then she took two steps back and but her bottom lip fiercely, watching Jane hold his nose. "I am so done, Jane," she said. "Loving you was like stepping on a rusty nail." She shook her head. "God, Jane, when we were in the pond?" She pressed her lips together. "You'd just been with her." She shook her head rapidly to keep her emotions in check. "And I thought you wanted me. But you'd just gotten some."

"Teresa…"

There was genuine regret in his eyes, as well as fear that she was really going to leave him, but Teresa found it impossible to sympathize with the man. He always apologized up the wall when he messed up, and he always meant it, but it didn't mean that he was going to learn. She thought back to their encounter in the pond, and she felt used and ashamed for allowing it to happen, and for participating with such feeling.

Not anymore.

Teresa walked back to the wagon train and crawled into the wagon, telling her children that she wasn't feeling well and to eat without her. She forced her way into the tiny space between an old dresser and a feed sack and collapsed over the top of the sack.

And the anger faded from her body and the hurt overflowed, and she clutched the feed sack as if it were her mother, and began to sob.

Even taking into account the fact that she'd demanded a divorce and he'd left the wagon train, Teresa still wouldn't have bet that he'd do t_his_, even if the other option was that he would shoot her and then cut off her head.

That one, at least the first part, could always happen by accident. Not this. No one had relations by accident. Especially not with pretty young things like Lorelei.

Teresa figured she should have seen this coming. She just truly believed that when it came down to it, Jane would choose her over Red John.

She guessed she was wrong.

But she wouldn't make the same mistake again. The pond would never happen again. He'd never share her tent again, even laying as far from her as possible, even though she knew he'd never try anything if she wasn't willing.

She was done giving even a little bit of herself to him. She never got it back, or got anything in return. He would just take off on another quest and leave her empty.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pounded the feed sack with her fist. "God, I hate you, Jane. I hate you."

**Sorry that was a little short! I'll update soon!**


	31. Chapter 31

**New update time! You'll get to see a little bit of what Jane knows about the people the wagon train is currently staying with. All is not as it seems, indeed.**

**In addition, any insinuated insults toward any religion or group of people is just keeping with the time period and not my own views.**

Teresa managed to go the following day without speaking to Jane, though they did make eye contact once, at lunch. It lasted longer than she would have liked, but at least Teresa was the one to break it, vowing that she would not be caught looking at him again. At supper, before it got dark, Teresa noted Grace sitting by the wagon with a book and thought it would be a good distraction from Patrick Jane. "What are you reading?" Teresa asked, sitting down and then scooting closer to her daughter.

"Oh," Grace said, looking up and then closing the book partway so her mother can see the cover. "Pride and Prejudice. I hadn't read it in a while, but seeing the buffalo run made me want to again."

"How on Earth does stampeding buffalo make you want to read Pride and Prejudice?" Teresa asked her daughter in fond amusement.

"Well, how large buffalo herds can look like scorched land from a distance, but then when you get closer, or they move, you realize what they really are. Incorrect assumptions and all. Like how Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy didn't see the other's true selves until they looked closer and stopped letting their assumptions control their lives." Grace looked somewhat embarrassed by her train of thought.

Teresa smiled and put her arm around her daughter. "Have I ever told you that I'm fascinated by the way you think? Same with your brothers, you're all so strong and intelligent for your ages, and you're always trying to make connections in your heads. And you're the best at it," she added. "But that's just between you and me."

Grace smiled. "Do I get that from you? Or from Father?"

"I'd like to think from me," Teresa said. "Your father was intelligent and driven, but he'd never think to compare Pride and Prejudice to buffalo herds. He was more connected to fancy machinery than literature or nature."

"So I'm more like Father Jane," she said, looking slightly disappointed.

"No," Teresa said. "You are nothing like him. You are loyal, and you put others before yourself. That alone makes you a better woman at thirteen than Patrick Jane is a man at forty."

Grace gave her mother a small smile. "I hope so. But if Pride and Prejudice taught me anything, it's that nothing is ever as it seems at first."

"Except for Patrick Jane," Teresa said firmly. A snort from Mouse, grazing by the wagon, made Teresa's next words hurt just a little more than they would have had the memory of her and Jane's last happy day not been stirred up. "He is exactly what he seems to be."

* * *

When the wagon train pulled out the following morning, Patrick Jane stayed behind. Teresa gave him a confused look when he didn't follow the rest of the group back to the wagons, but she didn't say anything.

He didn't expect her to. If he came clean with her, told her everything, Red John related and otherwise, she would only intervene in a way that would get her and her children in trouble. He couldn't chance that Grace fall into the same pit of hopelessness as Missy and Nell and Lorelei.

As soon as the wagon trains were out of sight, Henry Deed praised the girls for their 'performances' and ordered them into the cabins. "I'm surprised you stayed," he said to Jane as they were left alone in the morning sun. "We've given you all on Red John Bandit that we know."

"Those women have suffered enough because of you, you filthy bastard," Jane said, not looking at Deed. "I'm staying until they have their babies. It has nothing to do with me wanting to be a part of your little sect."

"My offer still stands," Deed told him. "Lorelei, she's a tough one to get to take, but she seems to have taken a liking to you."

"Sure," Jane said. "I didn't beat her because…" he trailed off, realizing almost too late that finishing that sentence might get the younger woman killed.

"Because?" Deed inquired.

"Nothing," Jane said. "Just thinking of something from back home."

Deed slapped Jane on the back, and smiled. "I gotta go do some hunting with Amos," he said. "You make yourself comfortable today. Make the girls feel more comfortable, further acquaint yourself with Lorelei, whatever tickles your fancy." He raised a hand as he backed away. "We'll talk later. You're persuasive and a smooth liar. You'd be a welcome addition to this little family."

Jane nodded, watched him go, and then headed for Lorelei and Violet's cabin. Knocking, he wasn't met with protest, so he opened the door.

The women were sitting on their beds, facing each other, not talking. When they saw Jane, Lorelei jumped up. "You actually stayed!"

"I wasn't going to leave Missy and Nell to have them babies without someone who knew how to mentally decrease pain," Jane said. "It's hard enough on a woman, and they haven't been treated best as is." He looked at Lorelei. "Red John is in Oregon. He wouldn't know if you left."

"Yes he would!" she said. "He would. He has friends everywhere. You said yourself they were even in your wagon train. Even if I believed you that he was a bad man, and I wanted to go against his wishes and leave…" she shook her head as if that was a completely irrational thought, "he would know. So I am staying here. Because he wants me to."

"He doesn't care about you at all," Jane said. "He is using you to drive a wedge between myself and my wife, and it's working. When he's done with you, he'll either send someone to have you killed anyway, or he'll just leave you here, to be raped and beaten by Henry Deed the rest of your life."

"Not if I got pregnant," Lorelei said. "If our night together conceived a child, then I'd be earning my keep and would get his respect."

"You'd be forced to come up with a 'my husband is dead' story and then be expected to keep having children until you wear out and die," Jane said. "And if Deed hasn't touched Violet yet, he will soon. And I think he already has." One glance at the younger girl's expression showed Jane that he had. "This is the wild west for a reason, Lorelei," he said. "Violet."

"What do you know, anyway?" Lorelei said, her earlier delight at seeing him fading away to sourness. "You don't know Red John."

"I know Red John more than you know Red John," Jane said. "I've studied him. I've followed him. I've come this close to finding him. I am obsessed with him. I know it, my wife knows it, her children know it, and you know it. And I'm putting that aside for the moment to help you ladies and you're too brain washed to realize that Henry Deed wants nothing out of his life than to be a seed ox who controls as many women as possible. The Mormons in Illinois are better than him!"

Those words brought a gasp from Lorelei and Violet.

"Those women next door are having those babies any day," Jane said. "And then I'm leaving, because I have a family to avenge and a family to come clean with. If you wish to come with me, you feel free. If not, don't say I didn't give you a way out next time Henry decides that he is owed the favors his wife gave him until she died." He stared hard at Lorelei. "You're nothing more to me than a poor young woman who has fallen in with the wrong people and maybe, despite your outer fierceness, deserves a little sympathy. But you're even less than that to Red John Bandit, and any protests to the contrary are, with all due respect, misinformed."

"I don't believe you," Lorelei said firmly. Violet nodded in agreement.

"Not that it matters," Jane said, shrugging. "You couldn't leave even if you wanted to. That's part of Red John's plan. Keep you here forever because Henry Deed wouldn't let you go."

"Of course he would," Lorelei said. "He's doing what Red John told him to do."

"Is that what Red John told you he told him?" Jane leaned toward the women. "Tell me this - if when I leave, I make it to Oregon and kill Red John Bandit, and you found it out as a fact...would you leave here? Or would a fear of Henry Deed keep you from action?"

**If you're still a little confused, the next update should clear things up. I'm intentionally not explaining everything right away. : ) All you need to know so far is Henry Deed is a man who needs to be in control and takes advantage of naive prairie women. Jane found out and is trying to help. As long as you got that, you're good for this chapter.**


	32. Chapter 32

**Shorter chapter here, since I don't want to get into the Jane stuff more in the same bit as this part; next chapter, which might be up as early as tonight or tomorrow morning, will give more to the Jane story. As for now, enjoy this chapter!**

"The Columbia River," Gale Bertram said, stopping his horse a short distance away. "You've all been warned about it," he said, facing the wagon train. "There are eleven wagons and four groups on foot. We've made it this far, but this is extremely dangerous. We're all traveling pretty light, so when we ford the river, let your oxen swim. If you fall out of this wagon, you're going to drown." Gasps from some of the women in the group made him raise his hand for silence. "I'm just being honest."

"Kimball," Summer whimpered, burying her head in his shoulder. "It's okay," he said quietly.

Bertram finished his briefing and the pioneers retreated to their wagons, some touching their oxen's sides as if that would make them stronger. A nervous twisting in her gut, Teresa ushered her children, Summer, and Pete into the wagon, and she took her place in the driver's seat.

The wagons began moving into the Columbia River. The Lisbon-Mashburn-Jane/Edgecomb/Lattimer wagon was tenth of the eleven wagons. Teresa watched the other wagons descend into the river, and she prayed hard.

Her prayers weren't answered for Wagon Number Five, the Andersons. One of their mules panicked and another inexplicably sunk under the water, and Pete and Kimball hugged their women to their chests to try and block out the screams as the wagon flew downstream, sinking out of sight.

* * *

It was almost forty five minutes later that Teresa's wagon was ready to enter the surging river. Their oxen hesitated at the bank, snorting fearfully, and Teresa snapped the reins, urging them on.

Then they were in the river. She could feel the wagon banking, the animals struggling to swim, and she could still hear the breathing of her children, huddled in the back. "Mama, let us help," she heard Wayne suggest, as he and the other boys had the night before and many times earlier this morning.

"No," Teresa said. "You're staying right where you are. What are you going to do? Help the oxen swim?"

They were about halfway across the river when the wagon lurched. Teresa, who had been staring at the land across the way, looked fearfully at the oxen. One, weakened by the current, was trying to swim downstream, and the other was kicking frantically. The wagon listed, and a quick shriek from behind Teresa made her glance behind her to see that the wagon covering had ripped, and Grace's left arm and shoulder had gone through it. Pete was hanging on to her arm, trying to prevent her from falling through.

Maternal instinct kicked in, and in a flash, Teresa dove off the front of the wagon, her hand grabbing frantically for the oxen's harness so she wouldn't be swept away. She felt her feet shoot in the downstream direction, but she had a hold on the harness, and kicking frantically, she pulled herself above water.

The children – they still were children, no matter how mature they acted – were screaming, and Teresa saw through her watery eyes that Kimball and Wayne had both jumped forward to take over at the wagon seat.

She had dove on the side of the wagon of the rogue ox, and she reached up and pushed its face to look upstream, struggling to keep her in line. "You swim this way," she snarled, "or you die!"

The oxen responded, either to her direction of its head or to her fierce words, and the wagon began moving at a slightly less terrifying angle toward shore. Teresa, despite being in the water, relaxed slightly, but that more peaceful mindset was gone moments later when the current whipped her into a large rock, causing her to cry out painfully and almost black out, her grip on the harness weakening. She held on due to pure adrenaline, but upon crawling beside the oxen to shore and taking a wary look backwards to see that Kimball, Wayne, Grace, Summer, and Pete were okay, she took one look down at her throbbing, bloody side and passed out cold.


	33. Chapter 33

**So this is a few hours later than I'd planned, but hey. Here it is.**

_**"Somehow I can't put you in the past." - Simple Plan**_

* * *

When Teresa opened her eyes, she found herself in a hard bed with a strange smelling coat under her head as a pillow. She felt contact in one of her hands, and she looked to the side and saw her daughter sitting beside the bed, both her hands curled around her mother's. "Hey Momma," Grace said, managing a small smile. "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?" Teresa asked. "Are we in Oregon?"

"We're a two day's journey to the settlement," Grace said. "Wayne and Kimball have been there. We didn't want to move you."

"The river."

Grace nodded. "You got hurt pretty bad. You briefly woke up for the past three days. Do you remember that?"

Teresa shook her head. Now that she remembered the river and Grace brought up her injuries, she could feel constrictions around her midsection that felt like bandages. "How are your brothers?"

Grace nodded – it made sense that she'd have expected the question. "Good," she answered readily. "We've been here a week, and they got back yesterday from scouting out the settlement. Kimball has sold most of his possessions and hired himself out in order to pay for material to build a cabin for himself and Summer. They're getting married as soon as you can be there."

"Lot has happened in a week," Teresa commented.

Grace nodded. "Yeah." She hesitated. "Mama."

"What, sweetheart?" she asked.

She hesitated. "We learned some things about the Deeds."

Teresa's face changed slightly. "What do you mean, Grace?" she asked, the nervous twisting feeling coming back to her stomach.

"The guys didn't want me to tell you, but…" Grace bit her lip. "We're in the West. We're strong women, you and me, and…"

"Grace, just tell me," Teresa said, cocking her head toward her daughter.

Grace looked down. "Word is he keeps those girls there. Word is they didn't lose their husbands. He keeps them there and keeps them pregnant and beats them if they don't keep getting that way. Apparently one or two of them are so desperate they beg passing through men to get them pregnant so Deed will leave them alone. But they won't leave."

Teresa thought of the two heavily pregnant girls they'd chatted with while at the Deed camp. "That is despicable," was all she could say.

Grace nodded. "I know." She hesitated. "You don't think Father Jane is…joining him, do you?"

"No," Teresa said firmly. She was ready to sit up, bandages or no, and defend Jane against _that _sort of behavior, but her daughter was nodding at her. "You don't think so either?"

"He's a tortured soul," Grace said. "He's not that kind of man." She looked at her mother. "But why would he stay?"

Teresa shook her head. "I don't know. A Red John clue, probably. It's always Red John with him."

Grace smiled sympathetically. "I can't…I wish he wasn't so driven by something that's gone. The five of us could have been a family, but he pushed us away."

Teresa nodded. "He did, Grace." She didn't chide her daughter for speaking about Jane that way, even though it wasn't terribly appropriate given his relationship with Teresa herself. Her daughter needed to talk, she could see it in her eyes, and she wasn't saying what she was to insult her mother or her relationship choices. She was giving sympathy through empathy; she had loved someone once, too, who wasn't who she thought he was. "He meddles in everything; he has to fix everything; and when it's something personal he gets all the more driven. But he's in the past now. We're moving on."

Grace nodded. "I just hope Deed doesn't hurt him." She stood. "I'm going to let Mrs. Smith know you're up."

"Whose house are we in?" A question Teresa realized she should have asked sooner.

"Mr. Minelli's daughter's and her husband's."

"Oh." Teresa watched her daughter go, her thoughts not on the pleasant surprise to be among Virgil's family, but on the person that she kept trying to swear out of her life. The thought that Deed might be dangerous, and holding those women to be his claims, and that her husband was staying with him for _whatever reason_…it agitated her. Jane could charm almost anyone, but in a truly dangerous situation, he didn't know how to take care of himself.

Teresa sat up, slowly, and looked out the window, staring east for the first time in months. "Jane," she said, aloud but barely audible, "I don't know what you're doing."

Virgil's daughter, looking barely younger than Teresa was and much younger than Teresa felt, walking into the room with Grace, so Teresa couldn't finish her sentence aloud. But as they eased her back down into a more relaxed position, her head tipped toward the window, and she looked at the mountains. _Be careful, Jane. Please be careful._

Grace saw her mother's face as she looked toward the window, and she sighed. No matter what Teresa claimed, she hadn't let Jane go.

Grace didn't understand this. She knew that her mother loved the damaged man, and she understood her hurt – Craig had hurt Grace deeply. She'd been able to let go partly because of Pete, and partly because she knew that deep down, Craig O'Laughlin was a bad man. Teresa, being in her second marriage already and close to the age at which she could abandon all hope of ever having another child, wasn't likely to find someone else; at most, she could marry a widower just for the company. She had to still be believing that Jane was good…or she was still harboring empathy for him because of his previous losses. And empathy was something that Grace _could _understand.

The redhead sank down on the bed and put her hand on her mother's good side. "You don't have to fix everyone, you know."

Teresa looked up at her daughter. "It's complicated, Grace."

"Darned right it is," Grace said with perhaps a little too much attitude. Her mother's eyes narrowed, and Grace dropped her own, breaking eye contact. "I'm sorry."

"No," Teresa said. "It's not your fault. I knew this was going to end a disaster the day I married him. I knew. And I did it anyway."

"Well, it's because you loved him," Grace said. "You still do, don't you?"

"And you love Pete," Teresa said, changing the subject. "Don't worry about me. I'm becoming an old woman. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't waste it feeling sorry for your mother."

"Are you thinking that if Jane really does meddle in everything, he stayed behind to try and help those poor girls?"

"Why are you doing this, Grace?" Teresa asked.

Grace took her mother's hand. "Because I know you want to help him. You want him to be good. You want him to have some redeeming quality you can cling to because as mad as you are at him you guys have been through so much and you can't see your life without him."

"Don't tell your own mother about her personal feelings," Teresa snapped, suddenly agitated. "Honestly, Grace, where is your respect? I'm your mother." She motioned toward the door. "Go see if the Smiths need your help."

Slightly startled, Grace rose, apologized, and left. Walking out of the bedroom into the second room of the cabin, she saw Minelli attempting to nail down a board in the floor. "Dammit, my knees," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the hard ground.

"Let me help," Grace said, dropping down next to him and taking the hammer out of his hand. Minelli protested briefly, but fell silent when Grace raised the hammer and brought it down hard, sinking the nail straight into the wood.

Minelli looked at the girl with an impressed smile. "Look at that, Grace! You hit the nail right on the head. And bruising my ego at that!" he added good naturedly.

"Yeah," Grace said, helping him up off the floor and looking toward the room where her mother lay. "That seems to be my thing today."


	34. Chapter 34

**First off, I want to apologize for the long time between updates. I won't waste your time with my excuses, so I'll just say 'thank you for your patience'.**

"Good morning, Teresa," Minelli's daughter said as she came into the room with bread soaked in water and a small cup of milk. "You'll like this milk. Fresh from the goat. Brought her all the way from Missouri tied to the wagon."

Teresa sat up in bed and took the food. "Thank you again, Abigail, for everything. I promise to make good on the prediction that I can leave tomorrow, and get out of your hair and rejoin my sons."

"Oh, any friend of father's is a cherished soul to me," Abigail Smith said. "You've been no trouble at all."

Teresa was almost finished eating when Grace, Pete, and a man she'd never met came into the room. "Good morning, mama," Grace said. "This is Anton Jedorn. He and Pete will be taking us to the settlement."

"I have your mare," Pete told her. "She's been very useful, but we're giving her back to you now. Apologies for using her."

"None necessary," Teresa said, smiling. She turned to the man. "So…" she searched her brain for his first name.

"You can call me Anton."

"It's nice to meet you, Anton," Teresa said, allowing him to kiss her hand. "I am Teresa Jane."

"Ah, the Teresa Jane," he said, and she felt suddenly awkward. Did he know her as the woman who nearly died swimming the Columbia, or did he know about Patrick?

"I heard that you single handedly pushed your oxen back on course crossing the mighty river," he said.

Teresa was relieved. "I got banged up a bit as a result."

"And saved your children and daughter – in – law's lives!" Anton said. "You're a hero. And a testament to the kind of women that we want out here in this rough country."

"That's what we've been telling her," Abigal Smith said. "She's very modest."

"All the genuine people are," Anton said, smiling.

"Jedorn," Teresa said. "English?"

"Yes ma'am," said the gentleman. "My parents came here from East London after they married. I was born here, but I certainly inherited their need to not sit on the farm and stay put."

"Then you seem to fit the description of a settler well," Teresa said. "Is it possible you are related to Thomas and Elizabeth Jedorn of Iowa?"

"My brother. His wife."

Teresa smiled. "He's a good man."

"He is," Anton said. "They may be heading this way next year or the one after." He gave Teresa a sympathetic look. "And ma'am, I would just like to say that I am so sorry about your husband."

Teresa's relief vanished. "Thank you."

"Did you hear about the shooting that went on at the Deed's place?" Anton directed this question to Abigail, who nodded nervously.

"What shooting?" Teresa asked.

Grace bit her lip. "Some stragglers came into town yesterday and claimed to have narrowly avoided the Deed homestead because of heavy gunfire from around the perimeter. They claim that three are dead, at least two of them were women. The dead man is rumored to be Deed's son. But the settlers didn't want to get close enough. Momma," she said, stepping closer and taking her mother's hand, "he is fine. He must be. He's not stupid enough to get himself killed."

"That's not my concern," Teresa said, possibly too loudly. "When do we leave tomorrow?"

"After first light, if you feel up to it," Pete said.

"I will be up to it," she promised. Pete and Anton nodded at her and left the room.

"So he's nice," Grace said, coming over to help her mother into a sitting position.

"Do not try to match me up, Grace," Teresa said.

"Oh, I won't," she promised. "Just warning you, Wayne might. He is either determined that you do not get back together with Patrick Jane, or that you find someone else so you aren't alone. I haven't been able to read him lately. He's been in a bad mood ever since one of the settlers asked him about Father."

Teresa frowned. "Why would one of the other settlers want to know about your father?"

Grace froze. Her eyes widened slightly, and then she cleared her throat and busied herself with changing her mother's bandage.

Teresa sat still, not protesting that she could do it herself – she couldn't, but she always swore she could – and not grilling her daughter on why she reacted this way to her mother's question.

She didn't have to. She already knew.

Grace, to the surprise of both herself and her mother, had not been talking about Walter Mashburn when she had said 'Father.'

She'd been talking about Patrick Jane.

**So we're starting to meet the actual people here in Oregon, Pete and Summer and Minelli and them will still be around, but I have to have other characters show up for realism's sake. And this chapter is a turning point in a way with Grace unconsciously referring to Jane as her father. We'll find out why in the next chapter, and we'll hook up with Kimball and Wayne again!**


	35. Chapter 35

**I know it's been a good long while since I've updated this, I took a hiatus from it for a while for some personal reasons, but now I feel I can update again, and should fairly regularly from here on out. I apologize for the wait, and that this chapter is so short. I needed a chapter of introspection into Lisbon's mind to get myself back in the groove of writing this story.**

"Are you sure you don't want to ride Mouse?" Teresa asked her daughter, looking down at the red – haired girl.

Grace nodded. "I'm sure. She's yours."

"What's mine is yours and you know that," Teresa told her, smiling as they walked along. Tonight. Tonight she'd be reunited with her sons. They'd be a family again; as much of a family that they could be. They'd make it work. They always did.

Teresa distracted herself from thinking about Patrick Jane by thanking God that, on a trail that killed one in four people, all three of her children had made it to Oregon safely. All three of them were finding love. All three of them seemed relatively happy. Which was certainly more than could be said about their mother. But wasn't that a mother's duty? To put the happiness and security of her family above all else?

Teresa's thoughts turned to Grace, and her recent reference to Patrick Jane as "father". She'd hurried out of the room afterward, clearly ashamed at referring to him that way. If she made such a slip of the tongue, she _had_ to have been thinking of him that way in her head, didn't she? How long had that been going on? Was something making her come round to Patrick Jane and the role in her life that he was supposed to have been, or had she always felt that way, and had just gone through a period of doubt?

Teresa looked down at Mouse's neck, the slivery hairs falling unevenly, a couple dozen strands falling to one side of the neck, then fifty to the other, then another fifty back again, then a couple stray ones the other way, and then a hundred or so to the other side. It was evident that she'd been used for travel only, for taking men back and forth to settlements and back to the Minelli house. The little mare's coat was a little duller than it had been, her eyes not quite as bright, her mood not quite as playful. She was striding out beautifully, but she probably hadn't been meant to be a work horse. It just wasn't her calling.

Teresa knew how the little horse must feel. This wilderness wasn't her home. She didn't belong here. This wasn't where her heart was. At least, not all of it. Part of her heart had been left, resting over the graves of her mother, her first, faithful husband, and of the little child that she and Jane had laid to rest before she had a chance to draw a breath.

Another part of her heart was being held hostage, choking, bleeding out, drowning, wherever Patrick Jane may be. He refused to let her have it back, and he wouldn't even tell her where it is, or where it was going, or if it was trapped in a dead man or being carried by a living one. Perhaps if he was dead, it could escape and return to her. She knew now that as long as he was alive to hold it, she wasn't going to get it back.

The last part of her heart, sore and raw and yet somehow still pumping, was with her, the pain dulled just enough to be bearable because this part of her heart also belonged to her children. Her strong, proud, intelligent children. They'd always been the only part of her life that gave her no questions.

Until now. Now she was fighting so hard to not ask her daughter w_hat did that mean_ that her mind was as tired Mouse's eyes.

She comforted herself again, as she had been doing all day, in knowing that the signs of a settlement that were beginning to appear far off in the distance signaled her reunion with Kimball and Wayne.


	36. Chapter 36

**So…it's been a month since I updated. SORRY. Real life hit me in the face. As we're into the ending parts of the fic now, I'll try to update more often for those of you still reading. : )**

"Wayne," Teresa said, her voice almost choked back as her youngest son jogged toward her. He wrapped her in a bear hug and didn't let her go until Kimball appeared out of one of the few completed buildings at the settlement, and then he stepped back to allow his older brother to embrace their mother. Kimball picked Teresa up and spun her around, and she laughed, so very thrilled to be with her boys again.

"We've set up a tent with a little more structure, Ma," Wayne said eagerly. "It's the size of a one room cabin. There are three of them. Summer's in one, Kimball and I in the other. They didn't want to get married until you got here."

Grace came back from tying Mouse and raised her eyebrow at Kimball. "I don't get twirled?"

Kimball glanced at her, cracking a rare smile before answering in his typical fashion. "No."

"C'mere, sis," Wayne said, scooping her up and spinning around. He almost lost his balance and looked sheepishly at Teresa as she laughed.

"Pete is building a shack for me and him," Grace said. "We'd love to be married as soon as that's feasible."

"Is there a preacher in town?" Teresa asked.

"Yes," Wayne said. "He's been marrying people every day."

"He's a good man," Anton said, nodding. "Just as your boys are. They have a good mother."

"Good father, too," Teresa said, and then wondered if she should specify that she was talking about Walter. _He fathered them. He is their father._ Her own thoughts hesitated.

_But he's not who Grace calls Father._

Teresa sighed. She'd managed to get Jane out of her head for less than an hour, and how he was right back in, setting up camp, flashing her that smile as if he'd never left.

"I'll carry your things to your tent," Kimball offered his mother, picking up her trunk. "Welcome to Oregon, mother," he said. "We're here."

* * *

"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Jane," said the older man who was taking a lunch break from chopping trees. "Sean Barlow."

"Barlow," Teresa said, shaking his hand. "That name sounds familiar."

"Well, some family of mine used to do the magic business with your husband's family," Sean said. "Boy, when I heared he was coming to Oregon…and to search for Red John Bandit!" He shook his head. "I've got some family back East, they don't know I'm out here yet, but should be coming along in a few year's time. Sam, Susannah, their kids. If I was a lucky man, they'd bring my Eleanor with them. But I shant see her again."

"Who is Eleanor?" Teresa asked.

"My wife," Sean said sadly. "Married to her for eleven years, and then one morning she just runned off with a cowboy. Ain't seen her in eight years. Some say she's dead. Others say she's got seven sons by seven men and ain't one of them's mine. I'd take her back though. In a half a shake of a lamb's tail, I would."

Teresa nodded, not exactly sure where the man was going with his story. He continued to ramble, about his lost fortune and his wild, runaway wife and how his family will have the shock of their lives to see him when they come out to this side of the mountains, and he couldn't believe that a Jane and a Barlow had met so far away from "where all the shenanigans happen" in Tennessee.

"Mama?"

Teresa and Sean both looked over to where Grace was approaching. "I don't mean to interrupt," she said, "but we've made venison."

"Would you care to join us?" Teresa asked Sean.

He smiled. "No, I need to get back to work. Thank you, young lady."

Teresa followed her daughter to their fire, where the boys were already eating hungrily. Teresa took a piece of venison and pulled it apart, not really hungry at all.

"Grace?" she asked, looking over at her daughter. "That thing you said…about Jane. What did you mean?"

"The thing I said?"

"You called him 'father'." Teresa said flat out. "You've never called him that before. It's always 'Father Jane', or 'Father Patrick'. You've always saved 'father' for talking about your real pa."

Wayne gave Grace a bit of a surprised look, and then glanced at Kimball. His expression did not give away his thoughts.

Grace looked into the fire. "Our real father died when I was a baby," she said. "I don't even remember him. There wasn't a male around the house when I was young. Then he showed up, and…" she shook her head. "Momma, he's a tortured soul. He's got these demons about him, this bit of him is just uncontrollable. But…" she shrugged. "He tries to do right by us. All of us. You taught us that men should act respectable toward women. He _showed_ us how men are supposed to act around women."

"He did," Kimball agreed.

"Respecting women?" Wayne asked. "He's made Mother bend over backwards for him the last two years."

"Wayne…" Grace said. "No one can _make_ Mother do anything."

_He can,_ Teresa thought to herself, feeling guilty. _He can._

"Mother," Grace said again, looking over at Teresa. "When I…when I walked into your bedroom the day Julia was born, and you two frantically started screaming at me to get out, to go away, trying to prevent me from witnessing what awful tragedy was unfolding…" she stopped when her mother blinked hard and looked down at her lap. Grace reached over and put her hand on Teresa's knee. "I only saw you two a split second before you saw me. But I saw how he was looking at you. He was holding your hand tightly, his other hand was brushing your hair back, and he was looking down at you with such worry…" she shook her head. "I never have doubted that he loves you. Having seen that, I just can't. When…when Louisa's mother died in childbed, she said that as terrible as that day was, what hurt the most was her father's complete lack of concern for her mother. He just wanted the baby. 'It's a boy', he said. 'I know it's a boy'. It was in fact a son, but the baby died, too, not ten minutes after his birth. Louisa said that her father had never seemed less interested in his wife. He didn't care that she was dying. He wanted his son." She shook her head slowly. "But there was never anything more obvious to me than his concern about you was that day. He loves you, and he tried his damndest to do right by us. And that's good enough for me. He's failed so many times, at so many things, but he's the one I think of when I hear 'father'. It doesn't make a difference that I'm not his blood."

"Oh, Grace," Teresa said, reaching over with one arm and tugging her daughter closer, using her hand to guide the red head to rest on her shoulder. Tears were in the older woman's eyes as she rocked Grace slowly back and forth. Across the fire, Kimball, expressionless as usual, observed. Wayne, not looking very happy, shifted his weight.

Teresa found that making up her bed in the new tent was just as simple as it had been on the Oregon Trail – shaking out her blankets and curling up on the floor. "We will have beds soon," Kimball told her. "Anton and I are working on making them. At least for you ladies."

"Kimball," Teresa said as he was about to head for his and Wayne's temporary quarters.

"Yeah?"

"I…" she studied her son. "I just needed to look at you. I know the light's terrible, but…" she shook her head. "We made it. We're here. We're safe." She smiled. "And I'm very excited for you to marry Summer. It doesn't matter to me that that baby ain't yours. You'll be as proud of that child as I am of 're gonna take it and raise it as your own and you won't coddle it and when it grows up it will be as strong and independent as you are. Because you are."

"I know," Kimball said. "My parents taught me how." He gave her a small smile and vanished into the night.

Teresa watched him go, then looked to her side and up, staring at the moon.

"You still love him."

She turned to see Sean Barlow, walking not ten feet behind her, leading two skinny oxen. "I…" she started. "I don't know."

"You do," he said. "I come from a family of psychics, remember? You're still a little bit in love with him. But he's so secretive, and controlling, and reckless, and unpredictable. You never really know his true plans. Sometimes you wonder if you even know him at all. But then he'll go and do something that will remind you why you love him, and the cycle starts again. And you lay awake thinking about him every night." He gave her a sympathetic smile in the moonlight. "It's hard, isn't it?"

She closed her eyes and gave him a polite smile in response, and he moved on, leaving her to craw into the big tent and find her blankets. The night was chilly – winter was nearly upon them – and it took less than an hour for Grace to find her way across the space between her and her mother. They wrapped their arms around each other and shifted the blankets over both of them, hoping to stay warm enough for a little sleep.

**You would not BELIEVE how happy I was that the guy from the finale was named Barlow, since Sam Barlow established the Barlow Toll Road at the end of the Oregon Trail in 1846! The family, Sam and Susannah, that Sean mentioned are the real life couple.**

**And yes, I did make Lisbon's "so that thing you said...what did you mean?" line be to Grace in this fic instead of Jane. In case anyone was confused on that. ;)**


	37. Chapter 37

**I'm just going to skip over the part where I talk about how busy I've been and just get to the actual fic part. Some time has passed. It's about late January of the new year now.**

* * *

In Oregon, time didn't pass the same way that it had done back home in the East. People went about building their cabins and staking out land for farming the following spring. Several couples got married – Kimball and Summer among the first in the week after Teresa had arrived at the settlement, and Pete and Grace wed around Christmas. Wayne, taking a different path, hired himself out to Barlow the instant that his mother had a roof over her head and his sister was safely in her shed with Pete. Teresa went longer periods of time without seeing him than doing so, but her two daughters – by blood and by marriage – were around all the time, and she contented herself with conversing with them. Summer had never been particularly good at sewing, so Teresa and Grace helped her let out her dresses as her stomach grew, and Pete was just as welcome an addition to the family as Summer. He made her laugh. That had been missing from her life for so long.

As well as spending time with Kimball, Grace, Summer, Pete, and Wayne when he had time, Anton Jedorn sought her out on several occasions. After their discussion by the fire upon her arrival to the settlement, Teresa's children had stopped teasing her about the attentions of the Englishmen. The rest of the settlers hadn't let up nearly as much; she was a single woman in the middle of this wild territory, and he was an eligible man of suitable age. People married for less than that. But no matter how much he complimented her looks and mettle, and no matter how many times she caught his eyes flickering between her own eyes and her lips, she never felt anything. She loved Patrick Jane, and though she couldn't forgive him for seemingly forgetting that she had children, she couldn't make herself fall for Anton Jedorn.

Of course, if she'd married him, it would make the people stop talking. Those who weren't grinning at her whenever she was in Anton's presence were whispering about her foolish congress with the ex fake psychic.

* * *

Any thoughts Teresa had of marrying Anton simply to get people to stop talking were shut away permanently when he kissed her. She hadn't been giving him any signals; they'd been talking about _mosquitoes_ and he'd leaned in and put his mouth on hers at the same time he put his hands on her sides, resting on her hip bones. She'd backed away violently, cussing at him and telling him to leave her alone, and he'd given her an odd look. It wasn't so much hurt, and it wasn't so much surprise, but the look that he had on his face seemed almost knowing. It was the look of a man who had to try, to get his answer, and now that he had it, he was processing it. It startled Teresa had how easily she was able to read his expression. Walter and Patrick had never been like that…or maybe it was living with them for so long that made Anton easy to read.

"I'm sorry," she told him, shaking her head. "I've spent my entire life wondering if I've married the right men for the wrong reasons or the wrong men for the right reasons. Anything with you would be for the wrong reasons."

He looked at her for a long moment, and then slowly nodded. "Fair enough." He gave a shallow bow and backed away, heading toward his cabin. Teresa turned and ran toward hers.

Summer was standing inside, her hands on her hips, staring at the back of the room. "Summer?" Teresa asked. "What's wrong?"

"I came in here for a pot," Summer said. "And then I heard a noise. A noise coming from the woods. That way," she said, as if Teresa needed further direction. There was only one window in the cabin and it showed the woods. Teresa stepped next to the heavily pregnant blonde and looked out. She couldn't see anything.

* * *

Patrick Jane stumbled forward, the shooting pain going from his foot to his skull in what seemed like less than a split second. His stumble, combined with the downward slope of the earth, caused him to pitch forward, somersaulting down the hill and landing with his legs almost straight up in the air against a tall rock. He stared up at the sky, waiting for his ears to stop ringing, and hoping that his leg wasn't much worse. He wasn't sure how much it could take.

After a few moments, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, limping forward again, and stopped when he reached a pool of water, drawing it to his mouth with his hands. He didn't put any on his shirt. He'd tried without success to get Lorelei's blood off of it a good two weeks back; even the snow wouldn't do anything but stain while his shirt remained a smeared red.

_Red_, he thought. _Red. That is all I am. It's all I have become._

Red John Bandit had taken Angela and Charlotte from him in a pool of red. He'd lost Julia the same way. Teresa had been seeing red when she'd left him at Henry Deed's homestead. Amos and those two girls had departed this world covered in it. And now, Patrick Jane's shirt was stained with the red of Lorelei's blood, his foot was reddish and swollen, and he'd bet if his eye wasn't swollen shut, it would be red, too. It seemed as if blood was forcing itself into his life; there was no escape, there was no part of his life that didn't involve blood.

"Except for Kimball and Wayne and Grace," his oldest daughter said, appearing next to him. She had no limp. He could see her as if he had two good eyes. "They're not your blood."

"No," he said, gimping forward. "No, they're not. But we both know how well that worked out."

"You know in Pride and Prejudice there was a point when Elizabeth had thought she'd failed too badly for it to be made right."

"You never read Pride and Prejudice," Jane said.

"No," Charlotte agreed. "But I'm also in your subconscious, and you've heard Grace talk about it. There's gotta be some part of you that believes that you can still get Red John and repair your relationship with the Mashburns. Or else you wouldn't have me say all of this to you."

Jane stopped and put his hands on his knees, panting. He'd traveled a long way, on foot and without a map, and he'd been dragged half dead out of the Columbia not a week ago. If not for the meal and blanket he'd been offered by the family who'd pulled him from the river, he had no doubt he'd be dead now. As it was, he felt dead. It'd been months since he'd seen Teresa, four weeks since Amos and the women had been killed, three weeks since Lorelei had been gunned down in a showdown with who Jane was positive had been Red John himself, and about five weeks since Jane had felt truly in control of his own person. He was spiraling out of control, and he knew it. He needed something familiar, and he needed it to be soon, or he was going to break down. Even now, with Red John close, he couldn't even imagine feeling okay again.


End file.
